The Night of the Moving Wound
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: A follow-up to TNOT Headless Woman. Jim and Arte thought the boll weevil case was solved and that the true mastermind was dead. And yet Jim is still bothered by a seemingly insignificant and vitally important fact. Now Jim and Arte must find and rescue the real James Jeffers, clear his name, and reunite him with his daughter Betsy. Oh, and catch the real mastermind.
1. Right or Left

**The Wild Wild West**

**The Night of the Moving Wound**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the show are not mine. Any other characters, and the story, are mine! This is a sequel or follow-up to **_**The Night of the Headless Woman**_** from season 3. Being a bit of a Richard Anderson fangirl, I was somewhat heartbroken by him being the episode's Big Bad! And such an especially rotten Big Bad, allowing his daughter to be kidnapped. I could hardly equate it with how he seemed to be such a loving father in earlier scenes. I started to ponder on other possible explanations, such as him either being a double agent or having a double. Then I noticed something strange. I noticed how the wound on his head appears to travel from one side to the other, depending on the scene. Of course in reality it's a costuming mistake, but oh, how well it supports my theory of a double! And thus, this happened.**

**Chapter One**

It was unlike Jim West to feel as though something was amiss and unsolved once a case had concluded. Usually he was in full agreement about the closing and filing away of his and Arte's mysteries. He did not like to dwell on them, but to move ahead into the future. There were always other, current matters that needed his attention.

And yet here he was, lying awake and staring at the darkened ceiling of the train's sleeping quarters as the boll weevil case turned over in his mind once again. He had tried and tried to sleep for he did not know how long. At last he had surrendered, turning his willpower over to that of his thoughts. There had to be some reason why they were still bothering him.

All of the loose ends had been tied up. The criminals still alive had been arrested. The United States government had confiscated all of their research and their hybrid boll weevils. James Jeffers' body, charred almost beyond recognition in the warehouse's inferno, was in the morgue. His daughter Betsy, heartbroken and crushed over both her father's death and his leading of the plan to destroy the world's crops, was staying with an aunt in town.

Maybe it was Betsy that bothered him. Although he had not even been the one to deliver the ghastly news. Arte had been responsible for that harsh blow.

Maybe it was Jeffers' involvement and his duplicity that was keeping him awake. The thing was, Jeffers was certainly not the only man who had pretended to be an ally while actually being a nemesis. And he was not the only one who had left stunned and aching family behind.

However, he _was_ the only one Jim could think of who had been willing to have his own daughter kidnapped to further the plot. That sickened him, and he had the feeling Arte felt even more strongly about it than he.

Jim had been the one there at the time the men had broken into the house. He had tried and failed to prevent the abduction. And Jeffers had been hurt in the fracas. Jim remembered that nasty wound on the left side of his head. It took a particularly dedicated and thorough mastermind, to allow oneself to be hurt just to throw suspicion away from them.

Jeffers had seemed so sincere in his worry when Jim had returned again later that night and found him with a bandage wrapped around his forehead. He should have been resting, the staff said, but instead he was up and around, worrying and pouring himself drinks and wanting to be out there looking for Betsy. Jim had been completely fooled.

The wrap-around bandage had been gone when Jeffers had revealed his true colors at the warehouse. He had thrown it away as he had thrown away all morality, leaving only a small bandage directly over the wound on the right side of his head. . . .

Wait a minute. The _right_ side of his head?

Jim sat up straight in astonishment. That was it. _That_ was what had been bothering him! Arte had not seen Jeffers earlier, but Jim had. He had been right there after Betsy's kidnapping. He had seen that Jeffers had been wounded on the _left_ side of his head! And it had not been a clever make-up job. Both Jim and members of the household staff had testified to that. One of the maids had dressed the wound. It had been real.

He tossed aside the covers and stood, trying not to wake Arte as he dressed and hastened back to the main car. What could this mean? In the warehouse there had been no wound on the left side of Jeffers' head. What if under the bandage on the right side, there was also nothing? What if he had not been hurt at all?

But at home he _had_ been hurt. He could not have healed that fast.

Was it possible, at all conceivable, that either the man at home or the man in the warehouse had _not_ been James Jeffers?

And if that were true, who was the other man?

And _where_ was James Jeffers?

xxxx

Arte was bewildered when he awakened at a more reasonable hour only to find the cars empty. When he questioned the engineer, he learned only that Jim had left in the middle of the night and promised to be back. And with no idea of where Jim was, Arte could only wait.

He ate breakfast. He walked the floor. He played a bit of pool. He fed the pigeons. He sat at the telegraph table tapping his fingers with impatience on the wood.

It was ages before the door opened and Jim stepped inside, somehow looking both exhausted and wide awake. Arte sprang up and walked over to greet him with an illusion of bluster. "Well, if it isn't James T. West, returning at last to his humble abode after a night on the town when he should have been recovering his strength!" His nonchalant tone faded. "Jim, where on Earth have you been?"

"Hi, Arte." Jim plopped his hat on the nearest end table and waved an envelope in the air. "I was at the morgue, taking pictures."

"You were _where?_" Arte followed Jim to the telegraph table as the younger man sank into the nearest chair. Arte took up the one he had been occupying, watching while Jim opened the envelope. "I realize you have some strange and unusual habits, James, but I've never known you to enjoy traipsing about the morgue, capturing likenesses of the dead!"

"In this case, Arte, I made an exception." Jim handed Arte a photograph. "What do you see?"

Arte frowned as he accepted it. "I see a dead man's face. Jim, isn't this James Jeffers? Or rather, what's left of him?"

"That's what I thought. Look closer, Arte. See the right side of his forehead? That's where he had the bandage from the attack back at the house."

"There's no wound there," Arte said in surprise. "He must have been faking it."

"Yeah. But here's the problem—he really _was_ hurt during that attack. I was there. I saw it. And I saw that he was wounded on the left side of his head, not the right."

Arte stared at the picture again. "Jim, what are you saying?"

"There's two men involved here, Arte—two men who look almost exactly alike. There has to be." Jim set the envelope aside and crossed his arms on the table. "But who was killed? And where's the other one?" He frowned. "It's just possible we were dealing with a fake in the warehouse. Maybe Jeffers was never responsible for anything illegal at all."

Arte placed the photograph on top of the envelope. "We'll have to find whoever it is," he declared. "If there's any chance that James Jeffers really isn't our criminal mastermind, then the real mastermind might have killed him before taking his place."

"And even if he's dead, Betsy deserves to know the truth," Jim said. "She shouldn't have to go through life believing her father was a murderer if he wasn't."

Arte nodded. "And if he's possibly still alive, he might not be for very long if we don't find him." He got up, overwhelmed by the enormity of the case now pressing upon them. "We'll have to retrace all of our steps."

"We should start at the Jeffers' house," Jim said, standing as well.

"And maybe we should have a talk with Betsy's aunt," Arte mused. "When I brought Betsy to her, she couldn't believe the news about her brother. Not that it would be likely she could, right at first, but maybe it's more than a loving sister's blind loyalty."

Jim nodded. "And she might be able to tell us interesting things such as whether he had mood swings now and then, as if he were two different people."

"Betsy might know something of that, too," Arte said. He frowned. "I hate to have to give her any hope about her father, though, when it might only be false. For all we know, _both_ men were corrupt."

"Well, we don't have to say anything about why we're asking," Jim said. "We shouldn't anyway, until we're sure. We might put Jeffers in more danger by asking the wrong questions, if he _is_ alive and innocent."

Arte shook his head. "And here I thought this was such an open-and-shut case."

"So did I, Arte," Jim said. "So did I."

xxxx

The man staggered through the streets of San Francisco, wounded and dazed and dizzy. He could barely remember a thing about what he was doing there. And _how_ he had gotten there was a complete blank—just as much of one as his identity.

He stumbled into the road without looking, very nearly colliding with a carriage. The driver yelled, angry, as he struggled to steer his horses away. What he said scarcely registered. The injured man backed up, allowing them to pass before continuing across the street.

He groaned, holding a hand to his head. There was some kind of bandage there; he had felt it every time his hand strayed. It was most painful on the left side, which pulsed and throbbed and felt like it was bleeding.

It was hard to think of anything other than the pain. His body moved slowly, tortured, almost mechanically. A woman stared at him, concerned, and tried to speak to him. He could only gaze back, not comprehending, not able to translate the sounds coming out of her mouth into intelligible words.

Eventually he turned, making his way into a nearby alley. This was better; he could use the wall for support and not worry about being in anyone's path. He had to get away. Somehow he _had_ to get away.

He was trying to go somewhere, he understood that much. But what somewhere? Why? Was he trying to find someone? Was he worried about someone, even? Somehow that sounded right. But who? Why was he worried? How would he even get there when he did not know who the person was? Who _he_ was? And when his head was threatening to pound him right out of awareness?

His equilibrium was lost. With a weak gasp and a moan he collapsed to the ground and lay still.

A cat, having observed the entire spectacle, meowed and leaped down from a nearby windowsill when it became apparent that the man was not getting up. It advanced cautiously; it knew how tricky and surprising humans could be. But this one did not so much as move, not even when the cat drew right up alongside and stared down at him.

It meowed again, pawing at the limp hand. When there was still no response it came closer still, sniffing all over as it investigated. It recognized the scent of blood. The human was hurt. With a low _merow_ it sat down and curled up, offering the man its warmth.

When the humans came after a while, the cat tensed. It did not like what it sensed from them. A low growl rumbled in its throat.

They did not even notice. "Here he is," said the first. "Stupid fool, thinking he could get away in his condition."

"He's still alive, isn't he?" The second was unsure.

The first bent down, seeking a pulse. The cat yowled and stood, batting his hand with all claws bared. The man jerked back with a harsh swear and a cry. "What's the deal with this cat?" he yelled.

The second looked worried now. "It looks like it's taken a shine to Mr. Jeffers."

The first shook his hand, trying to rid himself of the sting. "So what? We're bigger than it. If it tries to keep us from taking him, just kick it or shoot it or something." He glanced at his confederate. "And Jeffers is alive, sure. He just passed out from that knock he took. You know how woozy he was off and on last night after it happened."

"You're sure those Secret Service agents think he's dead?"

"Of course they do! There's no reason for them not to. They have who they think was the real mastermind behind the plot. They don't know that Jeffers' unfortunate double was just a figurehead. Or that the real Jeffers and his daughter are still important to us." The first grabbed hold of the unconscious man's upper arms and started to drag him off the ground.

The cat was on him before his partner could even answer. It spat and snarled and dug in its claws. The thug yelled, dropping Jeffers to tug desperately on the animal's torso. "Come on, for crying out loud! Get it off!"

The second man snapped to, hurrying forward to help. Together they managed to pry the miniature tiger away, depositing it unceremoniously on the ground in the alley.

The first man went back for Jeffers in the next moment. "Quick, get him up," he ordered. His ally obeyed, but they were not out of the alley when the cat ran after them again. They soon dashed out the other end of the alley in a panic, dragging their prisoner. One of the men was now missing a very large piece of pant leg. The cat tossed it aside and gave chase, but the thugs were soon in a stage and gone.

The horses' hooves echoed loudly up and down the San Francisco streets.


	2. Faith

**Chapter Two**

Betsy had barely slept last night. How could she, after being told that her father was dead, a crime lord, and had even engineered the most frightening experience of her life—being kidnapped? Her entire world had collapsed around her.

That one Secret Service agent, Mr. Gordon, had thought she had been taking it so well and so bravely. Actually, she had been so shaken and numb she had not been able to start absorbing what he had told her until later that evening, after he had left. Then the weight of his words had crashed upon her with treacherous force.

Her aunt Karen had desperately tried methods of calming her nerves, from warm milk to chocolate to fresh, soft quilts on the bed, but nothing had worked. And Betsy happened to know that Aunt Karen had not slept, either. Eventually they had both given up and gone into the living room to agonize together. Now it was morning and they were still there.

Betsy wrung her hands as she rested her arms on her lap. "Aunt Karen, didn't he ever give you any idea of what was going on?" she asked for the umpteenth time and in the umpteenth way.

"No, he didn't." Karen Jeffers, an unmarried, red-haired woman in her late thirties, barely noticed that the question was not new. She rested her elbow against the end table next to her chair, digging her fingers into her hair.

This was a nightmare, a horrible nightmare from which neither of them could awaken. Over and over she was replaying scenes with James in her mind, but she always came up blank. He had never acted in the least like he was involved in something illegal. Obviously he had been terribly clever, to keep it so well hidden, but . . .

Oh, it just went against everything she knew about her older brother! He was mild and good-natured and had loved his job because of how he had been able to help the United States prosper. He was not a crime boss. He could not have been.

And yet there was no other explanation. She and Betsy were just going to have to accept the truth and deal with it, somehow.

Betsy leaped to her feet. "This is all so ridiculous!" she burst out. "We both know Daddy couldn't have done all these things he's being accused of. I'm going to see if those Secret Service agents are still in town. I want to talk to them again!"

Karen started, looking to her niece in stunned worry. "Oh, Betsy. . . ." She stood, crossing the room to the anguished girl. "Even if they're here, what could they tell you that they haven't already said? There was no doubt of the man's identity. It was your father. It was James." Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard, trying to push back her emotions.

"There _has_ to be another explanation, Aunt Karen," Betsy retorted. "I won't believe Daddy was bad. And . . ." She trembled. "I . . . I don't want to believe he's dead, either."

Now Karen could not withhold a tear of grief. She drew Betsy close in a tender, sorrowful embrace. "We're both going to have to get used to it, Betsy," she said softly.

Betsy stiffened. "I won't!" she declared. "I _won't._"

The knock on the door startled them both. Karen pulled back, looking over as the maid hurried to answer the door. As she opened it, the voices from the porch were familiar. Karen's eyes widened in her surprise.

"It's them!" Betsy rushed to the door. "Come in, Mr. Gordon, Mr. West," she frantically exclaimed. The maid, stunned at being ousted from her duties, stepped back and stared.

"Good morning, Betsy," Mr. Gordon greeted as they entered. "Good morning, Ms. Jeffers." He removed his hat, with Mr. West following suit.

Karen was coming over by now as well. The maid, all but forgotten, shut the door after their guests and moved into the kitchen.

"You've come about Daddy, haven't you?" Betsy demanded before Karen could speak.

Jim and Arte exchanged surprised looks. "Why . . . yes, we have," Arte said at last.

"What made you think so, Betsy?" Jim asked, curious.

"Because I knew you'd made a mistake," Betsy returned. "You had to. Daddy wasn't a criminal."

Again Jim and Arte looked at each other, seeming to be sorting out a silent conversation with their eyes. Finally Arte turned back to her. "We weren't going to say anything until we had more evidence, but . . . well, yes, there is that possibility now. Please don't get your hopes too high," he added in vain, speaking to both Betsy and Karen, "but there may have been another man."

Jim came forward. "However, even if we find out Mr. Jeffers was being framed, and that he wasn't the man at the warehouse, he might still be dead."

Karen shook her head and held a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed. "I . . . I don't understand any of this," she said. "Mr. Gordon, what's the meaning of this? After bringing Betsy here last night, frightened out of her mind, and giving us the news that James was responsible for it, now you're trying to tell us that maybe he _wasn't?_ Was he or wasn't he?"

Arte heaved a sigh. "Well, I didn't have any doubts, Ms. Jeffers," he said. "Neither did Mr. West, really. It was only late in the night when he was mulling over it all and suddenly started to realize something that didn't add up.

"Why don't you tell them, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Let's sit down," he suggested.

The women complied. And as Jim told of how and why he had grown suspicious, they listened in astonishment.

"Of course," Betsy said at the conclusion. She leaned back, gazing across the room. "It's so clear now. It makes perfect sense. There _was_ another man." Her eyes blazed. "I wish I'd met the man in the warehouse. I could've told you then and there it wasn't Daddy."

"I wish you could have," Jim said. "And now the body's so badly burned there's not much to identify. But I did see that there wasn't any injury at all on the right side of his head, where he had that bandage."

Arte nodded. "He couldn't have been very good with disguises, to make such an amateurish mistake as putting it on the wrong side," he said.

Karen was still trying to take it all in. "But when could he have taken James' place?" she wondered. "Did he break right into the house? What would he have done with James?"

"We've been wondering that ourselves, Ms. Jeffers," Jim said. "It's possible that he's still somewhere in the house, either unconscious or dead."

"Someone on our staff should have found him," Betsy returned. "What probably happened is that he went out looking for me and that awful man came across him!"

"That's possible too," Jim acknowledged. "Maybe he panicked when I let him know I wasn't going to back down like the ransom note wanted. After what happened in the warehouse I thought he'd just been worried that I'd uncover all of his plotting and decided he'd have to reveal himself. But if he was innocent, maybe he really was worried that I'd make the kidnappers so mad they'd kill Betsy. And maybe he set out to either find you himself or get me to come back.

"If his double was watching the house, waiting for an opportunity to get inside, and your father came out, it would've been a perfect chance."

"But there's still the question of what he would've done with Mr. Jeffers," Arte said. "He could be somewhere on the property. The next thing we need to do is go there and perform a thorough search."

"Then I'm coming with you!" Betsy stood in determination. "Daddy could still be alive. And I'm going to believe that until we have a body. The _right_ body."

Still dazed, Karen got to her feet as well. "Is there something you can do to positively identify the body you have, if it really isn't James?" she asked. "There is the possibility that both men were in on the plot together, isn't there? And that James _was_ the man in the warehouse while his double was the one injured at the house?"

Jim sighed as he and Arte rose. "You're right, Ms. Jeffers. That _is_ a possibility too. And unfortunately, there isn't any way of identifying which man was killed. All I can tell you is that he wasn't the man present at the house when Betsy was kidnapped."

"That was Daddy," Betsy insisted. "It wasn't this horrible lookalike!"

Karen was overwhelmed. "There's so many new inventions coming out in this day and age," she said. "There should be some way of positively identifying bodies."

"I agree with you completely, Ms. Jeffers," Arte said. "I'm hopeful that someday soon, there will be."

"We don't need any silly identification!" Betsy was over at the door by now. "Mr. Gordon, Mr. West, Aunt Karen, _please,_ just take my word for it—it's the double who's dead and my father is innocent of all these charges!"

Jim walked to the door near her, his hat still in his hands. "We'd love to take your word for it, Betsy," he said. "The problem is that we need more proof than that. And until we find the other man and question him, we probably won't get that proof."

Betsy hauled open the door. "Then let's find him," she declared.

Arte tried and failed to hide a smile. "You heard the little lady, Jim," he said. "Let's find him."

xxxx

The slap to his face was harsh and cruel and startled him back to at least semi-consciousness. He groaned, flinching from the contact.

He was propped up against something, he discovered as he tried to move. A chair, probably—his arms had been tied behind it. Weakly, he tried to force his eyes open.

The face staring back at him was grotesque enough that he wanted to immediately close them again. At the same time, however, he found he was transfixed. He did not want to close his eyes and know that this person, whoever and whatever he was, was still there looking at him.

"Jeffers, you've been out of it long enough," the stranger growled. "Those idiots back at the house slugged you way too hard. Do you remember who you are yet?"

He peered at the speaker in bewildered disbelief. "What?"

The other man responded with a furious gnashing of teeth. "You were so messed up you were mumbling things about not knowing who you are," he said. _"Do you remember now?"_

"I . . . yes. Yes, I remember."

"You'd better be telling the truth. Just to make sure, I'll have you tell me about yourself right now."

The prisoner narrowed his eyes, angry at both his captivity and the order. "James Jeffers, commissioner of the California Department of Harbours. More importantly, where's my daughter?"

Grotesque Man sneered at him. "Your daughter is fine. She was rescued by those Secret Service agents. The only problem is, they all think you're dead. And that you were the mastermind behind our little operation."

"_What?"_ Jeffers strained against the bonds in utter disbelief. "No! Betsy wouldn't . . . she _couldn't_ think . . ."

"She wasn't given much of a choice. You see, the figurehead sent by the boss to distract the agents looked _just like you._" Grotesque Man leaned in to hiss the last few words. Jeffers turned away in repulsion. He could smell the liquor on the thug's breath.

"She wouldn't be fooled for long," he said at last. "And those agents are at the top of their game. You don't know what you're in for by toying with them."

"Oh, we already know they're a pain. Trust me." The thug leaned back, allowing Jeffers his personal space again.

Again Jeffers tried and failed to so much as loosen the bonds on his wrists. "Tell me more about this double," he demanded, the angry edge in his voice.

"He was using your identity off and on for quite a while," was the smirking reply. "It was a brilliant plan, really; we'd get into Abdul Hassan's Syndicate by using your name and shipping the boll weevils right under your nose. Everything was going smoothly until your 'twin' decided to stop listening to the boss and break out on his own. He killed his, or rather, _your_ own man Tom Cass when things started getting hairy."

Sickened horror swept over Jeffers at the news. "Did Tom know it wasn't really me?" he gasped.

"Oh, of course he did." The crude man leaned on a nearby crate. "He had to; otherwise he might have blabbed things to you."

That was something, anyway. But this whole set-up was outrageous.

"You said you still need both me and Betsy," Jeffers said. "Why?"

He received only a shrug. "You know, I have no idea. I just know that the boss said to keep you alive for now. That's the only reason your head's not bashed in. If it was up to me, I'd say you know too much. Not Betsy, though. As long as she has no idea what was _really_ going on, she's safe." The wretch leered. "She's a pretty little thing, Jeffers. Think I could persuade her to let me court her?"

Jeffers' eyes flashed. "You wouldn't dare!" he yelled. With a new burst of energy he rocked forward, fighting for momentum against the chair.

Grotesque Man promptly kicked out, striking him in the chest and sending him backwards to the floor. "Oh, I dare," he hissed, lowering his foot on Jeffers' sternum. The more Jeffers squirmed and grimaced in agony, the harder the pressure was applied. "Just remember that you've got no power here. We'll keep you and Betsy alive as long as we have to. But that don't mean we're not gonna have fun with both of you."

Abruptly Jeffers retaliated, kicking his captor in the stomach with both feet. The other man fell back, crashing into a stack of crates. Jeffers glared at him from the floor.

"And that doesn't mean I have to take it," he snarled. "You've already taken away my name, my reputation, and my job. But I'll let them all go gladly as long as you don't torment my daughter."

Grotesque Man pushed away some of the splintered wood and packing materials he had fallen among. "Your daughter is what you love most," he hissed as he got up. "That's why it'll be more fun to bother her." He walked out of the room, leaving Jeffers stranded on the floor with the chair.

Jeffers stared after him in disbelief and helpless rage. "Hey!" he yelled. "Come back here!"

Once more he fought with the ropes. His skin was painfully chafing, but it felt as though the fall may have loosened the knots. He would struggle with all his might to get free. As long as he was in his current position, the weight of both his body and the back of the chair would cut off the circulation to his arms and hands.

And who knew what Betsy was going through. He could only pray that those Secret Service agents were still around and would not let anything happen to her.

And he could not help longing that she would still believe in him, even though it looked very bad for him right now.


	3. Mastermind

**Chapter Three**

James Jeffers' house was still a shambles from the fights that had taken place there the previous night. As the group was let in by the butler, they surveyed the broken furniture in grim dismay.

"Oh, this is a terrible mess!" Betsy fretted. She hurried across the floor to where a pile of splintered wood was being gathered and lifted a table leg in disbelief. "How did this happen?"

"We're sorry about this, Betsy," Jim said. "It happened while we were subduing Abdul Hassan and his men."

"I'm sure the United States government could compensate you for this," Arte added. He felt terrible for her to see the place in such a state. As if she didn't have enough to worry about.

Betsy let the table leg drop back into the disaster zone. "Can they compensate me for Daddy, too?" she answered. "All I really want is to have him back, alive and well and not being accused of crimes he didn't and wouldn't commit." She turned in deliberation, heading into the dining room.

Arte followed. "If he's innocent, Betsy, we won't give up until we've proved it," he tried to assure her.

She stopped in the doorway, a small gasp escaping her lips. Everyone else tensed. "What is it?" Jim asked.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's nothing, really. It's just that this was the last place I saw him." Slowly she walked into the room, gazing at the toppled and broken furniture, candlesticks, and other objects. "Then I was taken and put in that room where there was the fire . . . and you rescued me, Mr. Gordon, and told me he was dead. And worse, that he'd been behind everything." She ran her hand over the table as she spoke.

Arte sighed, sadly. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to see here," Betsy said. "Let's keep going."

It wasn't until they were upstairs and arriving at Betsy's room that they found their first clue. Betsy only briefly wandered the space; it seemed to be untouched by the villains. But when she walked past her bed, she paused to straighten the crooked pillows.

And a folded piece of paper slipped out from underneath them.

"This is strange," she said in surprise. "What's this?" She unfolded it, staring at the contents in stunned shock as the others began to make their way into the room.

"What is it, Betsy?" Karen asked.

Betsy swallowed hard and held it out. "It's from Daddy."

Karen's eyes widened. She accepted the sheet and stood reading it while Jim and Arte perused it over her shoulders.

_Dear Betsy—_

_I am so sorry. Now they've taken you for their sick plan. The ransom note I received is ordering the Secret Service to back off from the case, but Mr. West refuses. I'm afraid they're going to kill you when they see he's still investigating._

_Whatever else happens tonight, I am going to find you alive and well. Somehow I'll get you away from them. Please forgive me for not being able to stop this from happening._

_Remember I love you._

_Daddy_

Betsy hurried over to them. "Well?" she exclaimed with impatience. "Do you believe me now?"

Jim sighed. "It still doesn't mean he's innocent," he said. "He could have fixed this up to make himself look innocent, at least in your eyes."

Arte frowned. "I don't know, Jim," he said. "Look how shaky his handwriting is. That could go along with how he seemed to be hurt after Betsy was taken. The staff said he had periods of alternating dizziness and awareness after that. And the last they knew, he was experiencing vertigo and going upstairs to rest."

"But instead he wrote this note in case something happened to him and then went out looking for me!" Betsy declared.

Jim read over the note again and looked to Arte. "Do you think it's genuine, then?"

Now Arte sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe he was hurt worse in the attack than he thought he would be. He could have written this with a shaky hand and not been innocent. Or the double could have written it. But either way, that would likely mean both he and the double were guilty."

Betsy made a face. "You're impossible!" She walked over and grabbed the note back. "If Daddy didn't write the note, he could've just gone out looking for me. Then the double took his place, wrote the note, and went to the warehouse."

Arte gave Jim a sidelong glance. "She does have a point, Jim."

"But so do we," Jim returned.

Karen exhaled in exasperation. "So we haven't really gotten anywhere, have we?"

"Right now, we don't know," Arte admitted.

"But the note is evidence," Jim added. "Maybe if you study it back at the train, Arte, you'll find something we're overlooking."

Betsy blinked. "Like what?"

Arte looked to her. "Well, it's possible that he had some kind of a code in this note," he said. "If I study it more thoroughly, I might be able to find it."

Betsy frowned. "Why would he put a code in the note? Unless you're still thinking he's guilty and it was meant as a signal for his cronies."

". . . That could be true," Arte said slowly. "But it wouldn't have to be. Maybe he was innocent, but he found out something about the operation. And he put it in code, hoping it wouldn't be discovered."

"If there is any code, that must be what it's about," Betsy said with a firm nod.

"We'll find out soon enough," Jim said.

xxxx

It was several hours later when Arte let his pencil drop to the telegraph table with a sigh. Jim, who had just wandered onto the train after visiting the local jail, looked over. "No luck, I take it," he said.

Arte shook his head. "The whole note seems kind of strange, Jim, but if there's any code in it I haven't been able to break it." He pushed his chair back from the table. "I suppose it's possible that there isn't anything strange about it, that Jeffers was badly hurt and not all there and wrote the note like Betsy said, in case something happened to him while he was out looking for her."

Jim nodded. "It's possible, alright."

"What about Abdul Hassan and the rest of those _charming_ characters we picked up last night?" Arte wondered. "Any clues there?"

Jim sighed in frustration. "They're not talking. The most I got out of any of them was a Look from Tucker when I asked him if there was a double. He acted almost like he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. But when I pressed him further he refused to say anything. If I had to guess, Arte, he was afraid of saying anything."

"Maybe he thought Hassan or someone from the Syndicate might kill him?" Arte suggested.

"Maybe," Jim agreed. "Or maybe he was afraid of another danger, an outside danger. In any case, they're all being shipped off to Washington later today. Unless we find a good reason to keep them here a while longer.

"Arte, what do you say we roam around the city for a while? We might find someone who saw Jeffers last night."

"That sounds great to me!" Arte declared, grabbing his hat as he stood. "We can start from the Jeffers' home and try different directions from there."

"That's just what I was thinking," Jim said. "Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky."

"We could certainly use some luck." Arte sobered while they walked back to the door. "Poor Betsy's so convinced that her father's innocent, and in danger if he's alive. Unfortunately, she might be right on both points. I wouldn't mind the former, but Jim, what if he is in trouble and we can't find him in time? I don't know how I would ever break the news to Betsy."

Jim's expression remained mostly impassive, but there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "I don't know how, either," he said.

xxxx

Jeffers had been fighting with the rope for he did not know how long. By now his arms and hands were mostly numb. No one had been in the room since he had been thrown to the floor. And if there had been any hope of loosening the knots, it was largely gone.

At last he slumped back in exhaustion, staring blankly at the ceiling. If he stopped, it would be all the harder to continue. The lack of feeling in his arms would only increase. But he could not keep fighting with the rope, not without a rest.

The horrifying news he had been told was running over and over again in his mind. Someone had been impersonating him. Worse, they had made it look like he was the villain behind the boll weevil plot and the alliance with Abdul Hassan's Syndicate. Betsy was safe, supposedly, and he was endlessly thankful for that if it was true. But he could not help the heartache and anguish over knowing that she had been told of his "involvement" and his "true nature." Would she believe it?

She could not believe it; she _wouldn't._

As a child she had idolized him, placing him high on a pedestal. Her mother had died when she had been very young and he had raised her mostly alone, although Karen had helped. In his mind's eye he could still see a five-year-old Betsy, running to him with sparkling eyes and a bright smile, exclaiming _"Daddy, look at this!"_ as she held out the latest of her treasures. Sometimes it had been a new kind of flower or a unique rock. Once it had been a _frog._ Betsy had not been squeamish about handling such things.

Had it really only been yesterday when she had come to his office, asking for his help with opening a charge account?

Everything had still been normal yesterday afternoon. But at nightfall, their lives had turned completely upsidedown.

Right now he could not help but wonder if anything would ever be normal again.

He snapped to attention as the wooden door creaked open. Instead of the unseemly drunk from earlier, it was an unfamiliar voice that spoke now.

"See here; this is no way to treat our honored guest. Get him up."

Jeffers turned to look, just in time to see two thugs glaring down at him as they approached. As per their boss's directions, they hauled up the chair. Jeffers gasped at the abrupt spikes of feeling coursing through his arms and down to his hands.

The newcomer clucked his tongue as he made his way over to his prisoner. "I'm sorry about Thatch's lack of hospitality, Mr. Jeffers. He's so impulsive sometimes. I intended to have you treated better than this."

Jeffers looked around for the source of the voice. He could hear someone walking across the floor, but the crates seemed to be concealing the man's identity. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why am I here at all? And where's my daughter?"

"You needn't worry about dear Betsy, Mr. Jeffers. She's quite safe. Thatch mentioned he told you that, at least."

Finally the speaker came into view. Jeffers stared, stunned. It was a little man. He had not expected that someone so small would have such command over these characters, nor such strong presence.

"As to who I am," the stranger continued, "I am Doctor Miguelito Loveless! And you're here because you still have a part to play in the story that's been unfolding." Loveless smiled. "The government thinks they've solved the boll weevil case. That's good; that was the whole purpose of your double, to distract them and throw them off the right track. Meanwhile, I can regroup and resume the plot right under their noses."

Jeffers' eyes narrowed. "I've heard of you, Dr. Loveless," he snarled. "So _you're_ the real mastermind behind the boll weevils. But what do you need with me? If you're thinking of bringing me out of hiding, it won't help you. You've set me up to be on trial for this whole mess! Only now I'm supposed to be dead!"

"Yes, that was an unfortunate incident," Loveless frowned. "It wasn't part of my plan, you understand. Your 'twin' was too overly eager to strike out on his own. He thought he knew better than me. Me, when I was the one who discovered him and his amazing resemblance to you! I was the one who set him up in his excellent position to masquerade as you. He was merely an instrument, a tool in my hands. And he thought _he_ knew better!" Loveless was disgusted now. "It was just as well that Tucker eliminated him. I don't need someone so weak."

He smiled again now as he studied Jeffers. "And you, Mr. Jeffers. You might be weak in another way, a way I can use to my advantage."

"And what's that?" Jeffers growled.

"Your daughter." Jeffers froze. "Yes, you will do whatever I wish if your daughter's life is at stake."

"Leave Betsy out of this!" Jeffers struggled anew with the ropes, despite the pain and the soreness in his wrists. "What do you want from me?"

Loveless allowed Jeffers his futile fight. He stood back, regarding his prisoner evenly. "You see, Mr. Jeffers, your double did a very foolish thing not long ago. He had in his possession some very important information that I need. And he gave it to Betsy. Oh, she had no idea what it was, of course; it was in a sealed envelope and he told her to put it somewhere safe and never mention it again. She thought she was talking to you, so naturally she did just as she was told."

"And you want me to get this envelope back," Jeffers said. "Am I right?"

"Quite. And to somehow do it without arousing Betsy's suspicions. If you can't, well . . . we'll just have to bring Betsy here and ask her ourselves. And I'm sure you don't want that, do you, Mr. Jeffers?"

"Of _course_ I don't want that!" Jeffers snapped, his eyes aflame. His skin crawled at the thought. Especially when he remembered how Thatch had leered and showed an unholy interest in her. "I'll get your envelope back for you. Just forget about bringing Betsy here, or _anywhere,_ for that matter!"

Loveless nodded, pleased. "Good, Mr. Jeffers, good. I knew you'd see things my way." He looked to the lackeys. "Untie him."

They obeyed. As the ropes at last fell away, Jeffers brought his arms in front of him, wincing at the fiery pain. He rubbed at his wrists, desperate to restore more of the feeling within them after being restrained for Heaven knew how long.

"My going back will cause an uproar, you know," he said. "Unless you have a way around that."

"I do, Mr. Jeffers," Loveless returned. "No one is to know of your return except Betsy. Then, if you do exactly as instructed, the two of you must escape San Francisco and go where you'll never be found."

Jeffers did not like those terms either. But he was in no position to argue. "We'll do it," he declared.

"Excellent." Loveless stepped aside. "Just to ensure that you won't be prematurely noticed or picked up, you'll be driven to your house by two of my men."

"Fine," Jeffers said, impatient now. "That's fine."

"Well, then, since there's no point in delaying any further, let's be off." Loveless headed for the door.

Jeffers stood to follow. His head immediately protested, sending out a wave of dizziness. He stumbled back, raising a hand to the bandage.

Loveless paused in the doorway and looked back. "Still feeling under the weather, Mr. Jeffers? Boys, help him along."

That made Jeffers stagger forward in determination. "No," he retorted. "I can make it without their help."

Loveless shrugged. "Very well, if you feel that you can."

Jeffers was not at all sure he could. But he pushed himself forward anyway.

He did not want to help Dr. Loveless with any scheme of his. But if the alternative was Betsy being harmed, what choice did he have?

Maybe if the Secret Service agents were still around, he could . . .

No, it was too risky. He could not endanger Betsy.

He followed Dr. Loveless out the door.


	4. Clues

**Notes: I brought in a couple of characters from the season 7 **_**Bonanza**_** episode **_**Her Brother's Keeper.**_** I have this insatiable love of certain oneshot characters (as evidenced by the fact this story exists at all!) and Carl and Claire Armory fascinate me. I have a sort of story for them after the end of the episode that finally enables Carl to get on his feet and brings them both into contact with James Jeffers. Hence, they fit in nicely here. This is probably their only appearance in this story, unless I find later that they have some other part to play.**

**Chapter Four**

The search for James Jeffers across San Francisco proceeded for hours without any significant leads. It was late afternoon before even a smidgen of something interesting happened, but in the end both Jim and Arte had a certain kind of luck.

Jim ended up standing outside a pleasant and fairly well-to-do house with white trim. As he passed through the gate and up the walk, the front door opened and a blond man stepped onto the porch.

"Hello," the man greeted. "Can I help you?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "I'm James West, United States Secret Service. I'm wondering if you might have seen this man wandering aimlessly around town." He took out a small photograph that Betsy had given him. "He's hurt and might not be acting like himself."

The man stared at the picture in disbelief. "Why, that's James Jeffers," he gasped.

Jim's eyes flickered with surprise. "You know him?"

"Yes. Yes, I most certainly do. I'm Carl Armory. Mr. Jeffers is a good friend of mine." He looked to Jim with worry and concern. "What's wrong, Mr. West? How was he hurt?"

"It's a long story," Jim told him. He peered at Carl. "I'm sorry, I have to ask. Haven't you seen the newspaper this morning?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Carl said. "My sister Claire probably has; she brings it home with her from work. But I . . . I don't want to wait until then." Almost automatically he raised a hand to his throat, as though he was having difficulty breathing. But he rushed on, "Mr. West, please tell me what's wrong."

Jim considered the request, and the man, and finally nodded. Maybe Carl Armory would be able to give him some more clues, if he and Jeffers really were close friends.

"Alright," he consented. "Let's go inside and talk."

xxxx

Arte managed to get almost to the edge of town and the docks without finding anyone who had seen Jeffers. But when he showed the photograph to a plump woman tending her flowers, her eyes grew twice their size.

"I did see him!" she cried. "And he was stumbling around, just like you said. But it wasn't last night, oh no. It was this morning!"

Arte was stunned. "Did he say anything to you?" he asked, struggling to get over his bewilderment.

"I tried to get him to, but he acted like he didn't hear me. I'm telling you, he was in a bad way." The woman shook her head as she rearranged the roses in a glass vase. "Walked off down the street, he did. Staggered around a corner and then was out of sight. I couldn't go after him; I had a customer. And when I could finally go look, he wasn't anywhere!" She looked at Arte in concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"Well, I'm afraid I don't fully know, Madam," Arte said. "He received a head injury last night. From your description, he may have still been suffering from the effects of that." He touched the brim of his hat. "Thank you for your time."

He hurried down the street and around the corner. When he came back, perhaps he would give the good woman some business and purchase a bouquet of flowers for dear Betsy. She certainly deserved something cheery.

The flower vender was right; Jeffers was nowhere to be seen. But, undaunted, Arte continued to the next street. If Jeffers had been in this general area, someone else surely must have seen him too.

There was an alley on this street. Arte hastened to it, peering down the narrow pass. If Jeffers had come that way, he was gone now. And there was certainly a lot of assorted junk scattered around. Arte stepped inside, casually glancing over it.

The sight of a torn piece of dark cloth, stained with blood, gave him pause. He bent to pick it up, examining it with a deep and curious frown. Had this belonged to Jeffers? How had it gotten torn off? Had there been a struggle with someone?

He was about to walk on when the glint of something else caught his eye. Again he reached to the ground, this time drawing up a golden band. He turned it between his fingers, squinting at the inside. There was no inscription.

Tossing the ring in the air, he snatched it back and dropped it into his pocket. This he followed up with the rolled-up cloth.

He would run both items past Betsy and see if she could identify them. He had the vague remembrance that Jeffers still wore his wedding ring despite his wife's death. Although even if Arte was wrong and Jeffers did not, he might have still had it on his person. It was worth a try, anyway.

Currently it was all the evidence he had that Jeffers had been in this alley.

xxxx

The orange tabby cat that had torn the piece of cloth from one of the thugs had abandoned the alley as soon as the two cruel men had dragged Jeffers away. Determined to keep him in its sights, it had followed the stage all the way to Dr. Loveless's hideout, where it had paced, looked in the windows, and meowed in annoyance at being kept out. Once the stage was ready to leave again, and Jeffers walked out of the building to get inside, the cat jumped into the baggage rack on the roof. It would hide there and wait and watch.

The drive to the house was long and tense. Jeffers hated every moment of it, shadowed by Loveless and one of the men while the other sat up front and drove.

And he hated the thought of the deception he would have to pull when they arrived. Betsy would be worried sick. How on Earth would he explain his disappearance, and _reappearance,_ without mentioning anything about Loveless or his gang?

Well, he supposed he could say he had been wandering around in a stupor. That had been true for some of the time, anyway. But she would wonder what he wanted with that envelope all of a sudden.

What did _Loveless_ want with it? What was in it that was so important it made the double take it from Loveless and want it for his own? And why hide it with Betsy? Why not use the contents right then?

He clasped his hands over his knee. He had hated being branded the crime lord over the boll weevil operation when it wasn't even so. But now he was going to assist the crime lord. In the end, that would make him a criminal even if he was only trying to save his daughter. He couldn't let anything happen to her.

But if something went wrong and something happened to him, it would be a horrible blow for Betsy. She already thought he was dead. Then she would find him alive, and not a crime lord, only to discover that he was now involved in something else illegal.

And what guarantee did he have that Loveless would even keep his word? The man was insane. Jeffers remembered all too well the plot to take over half of California.

He spun to face the bad doctor, his eyes flashing. "You said that if I do what you want, and bring you the envelope, you'll let Betsy and I escape the city," he said.

Loveless gave him a bored look. "Yes, I know."

"I don't have any way of knowing that you won't just have us killed anyway," Jeffers retorted.

Now Loveless perked up, his expression changing to insulted disgust. "Mr. Jeffers, I am many things, but a liar is not one of them!"

Jeffers met his unwavering glare, searching for any hint of truth. "Maybe you are, maybe you're not," he said. "It's hard for me to really know what to believe."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice but to believe me," Loveless sneered. "That's why you were willing to go along with the ransom plot—even though you didn't know then that I was behind it. And it's why you're going to work with me now. You're weak, Mr. Jeffers, just as I surmised."

"Is it weak to love someone and want to protect them?" Jeffers shot back, bitterly.

"In some cases, no. But in many cases, yes."

The stage slowed and stopped as they pulled up in front of the mansion. Loveless gazed out at it, smirking. "There, Mr. Jeffers. Inside you will find your daughter and ask her about the paper."

Suddenly he stiffened. A scruffy man was coming from around the side, his visage grim.

Jeffers was bewildered. "What is it now? Who's that?" he demanded.

Loveless opened the door of the stage. "Something went wrong," he tossed over his shoulder. Then, to the lackey, he said, "She isn't here?"

A shake of the head. "She's with her aunt in town. I had to beat up the butler to get him to talk."

"What?" Now Jeffers was furious. He moved to get out of the stage, but the man next to him shoved a gun in his ribs.

"You don't move," he growled. "Not now."

Jeffers regarded him in repulsion. His thoughts were spinning. But when Loveless spoke again, he snapped to attention.

"That's a shame. I was hoping we could avoid such rough and unseemly methods. How badly did you have to hurt him?"

A shrug. "He's still alive. I left him moaning in pain, though."

Loveless spun back to the stage and climbed inside. "Do you remember where Karen Jeffers' house is?" he asked of the driver.

"Yes, Sir," was the nodded reply. "It won't take long to drive over there."

Jeffers looked to Loveless in angry disbelief. "How does he know where Karen lives?" he cried.

Loveless pulled the door shut after him. "Why, Mr. Jeffers, you should know the answer to that. Or at least suspect. After all, we've been observing you and your little family for weeks."

Jeffers glared. With the cold gun's barrel still poking him in the side, there was little he could do at the moment other than sink back into the seat and wait out the ride.

And ask questions. He had plenty more.

"How will Betsy and I get away without Karen knowing? She'll be right there."

Loveless was unconcerned. "Oh . . . you'll think of something," he said.

"You'd better not hurt her," Jeffers growled.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Jeffers."

Jeffers was unconvinced. His heart raced wildly as the stage rode through the streets.

What kind of mess had he and his family been thrown into? And how were they ever going to get out?

xxxx

Jim looked to Carl Armory as they sat in the living room, across from each other in chairs. "Mr. Armory, how long have you known Mr. Jeffers?" he queried. He had decided that before explaining anything, he wanted to be surer of this person's background. It was getting harder to tell who was a friend and who was a foe.

Carl looked slightly uncomfortable. "Several years now," he said. "My sister and I . . . well, we've moved a great deal. San Francisco is sort of our home base, so to speak. We always seem to end up returning here. We came back again after a brief stay in Virginia City, Nevada. My sister was badly injured shortly after our return. While I was nursing her back to health, I met Mr. Jeffers. He helped us both immensely, Mr. West. I . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know how we would have gotten through that without him."

"And you've been friends with him ever since?" Jim prompted.

"Yes." Carl leaned forward, impatient. "Now, Mr. West, will you please tell me what's going on? What's happened to him?"

Jim sighed. "At the moment, I'm not sure. My partner and I know he was injured last night, but that's about it. We thought we'd discovered that he was the head of a criminal operation, and was then killed by one of his henchmen, but it's looking more and more as though that may have been someone else." He stayed on guard as he spoke. Carl seemed harmless enough, but he could change personalities in an instant. Jeffers had. Or had seemed to, at least.

Upon hearing the news Carl leaped to his feet. "Of course it was someone else!" he burst out. "Mr. West, the very thought of him being part of . . . well, _anything_ illegal, is preposterous!"

Jim stood as well. "I'm glad to hear you feel that way," he said. "I need you to think carefully. Was there ever any time when Mr. Jeffers acted strange?"

Carl shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"It could have been any number of things," Jim said. "Maybe he didn't remember something he should have. Maybe he acted brusque or harsh where normally he wouldn't."

"No one's perfect, Mr. West," Carl said with a sigh. "If he forgot something or acted rude once or twice, I don't think I'd remember."

"Carl?"

Both men looked up with a start as the door opened. A red-haired woman stepped into the room, her bag in her hand and a paper under her arm. She regarded Jim and then Carl in perplexity. "Carl, what's going on here?" There was a slight hint of concern in her voice, unless Jim imagined it.

"Oh, Claire, we have a guest," Carl hurried to explain. He crossed the room and took the woman by the arm, bringing her over. "Claire, this is James West, a Secret Service agent. Mr. West, this is my sister Claire."

Jim smiled. "Charmed, I'm sure."

Claire was worried; there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. "Mr. West," she stammered. "I . . . I'm surprised. I didn't think the Secret Service would ever be paying a visit to us." She shot a questioning look at Carl, who responded with a faint shake of his head. "I hope there isn't any trouble."

"Oh no," Jim said. "Nothing that involves you or your brother, Ms. Armory, except in your capacity as friends of James Jeffers."

Claire rocked back. Whatever she had expected to hear, that was not it. "Mr. Jeffers?" she gasped. Instantly her gaze flew to the newspaper she was carrying.

"It's alright, Claire; I know what that paper says," Carl put in. "But I don't believe it, not for one minute. And Mr. West tells me that he and his partner believe it wasn't Mr. Jeffers who ran the criminal operation they shut down."

Slowly recovering, Claire placed the paper and her purse on the table. "Of . . . of course it wasn't," she said. "It couldn't have been."

"If it wasn't, then that means the real James Jeffers has to be found as soon as possible," Jim said. "He could be in serious danger right now. If he's still alive."

Claire clenched a fist. "We're both very good friends of Mr. Jeffers," she said. "Please, Mr. West, if there's anything we can do . . ."

"I was just asking your brother if he could remember a time when Mr. Jeffers acted strange," Jim said. "It _could_ indicate that at that time it was actually this possible double and not Mr. Jeffers."

"I heard some of that conversation, Mr. West. And I _do _remember a time when he acted odd. It wasn't that long ago, either."

Carl blinked. "Claire, you didn't mention anything like that."

"I know." Claire sighed. "First I thought I was hearing things. Then I thought it just wasn't important. But a couple of weeks ago I came across him leaving his office. He was talking to Tom Cass, that poor worker who was killed. I heard him say something about boll weevils."

Jim snapped to attention, while Carl looked befuddled. "Boll weevils?" the blond man frowned, dubious. "_Why_ would he care about . . ."

"The criminal ring was smuggling boll weevils, Mr. Armory," Jim interrupted. "Like I said, it's a long story." He turned back to Claire. "Did you hear _exactly_ what he said?"

"I did. He told Tom Cass not to come there to talk about boll weevils ever again." Claire frowned. "Tom agreed and left. Then I went over and asked him what they were talking about. He looked . . . well . . . as though he was alarmed that I'd heard it. He said that Tom had been down in Mexico and was telling him about the boll weevil problems down there. He said he didn't want to hear about it because it was sickening."

"And you didn't believe him," Jim said.

"Well, yes . . . but I still thought it seemed strange," Claire said. "And then I read the paper today and it mentioned the criminal organization was trying to smuggle boll weevils into the United States and all over the world." She looked down. "It all made a horrible sense then."

"Did you think Mr. Jeffers was guilty when you read the paper?"

"What could I think?" Claire threw her hands in the air. "The reporter even wrote that he had been killed by one of his underlings in the warehouse that burned. It was terrible." She turned away. "I've been dreading returning home to tell Carl about it. Then I came and found a stranger in the house. . . . I'm sorry, Mr. West, you must have thought me rude."

"Not at all," Jim said with a smile and a nod. But he did wonder if that was the only reason she had been worried upon her entrance. "What happened after he said he didn't want to talk about boll weevils?"

"Oh . . . I told him he didn't have to worry; I didn't want to talk about the wretched things, either. He laughed and said 'Good', and told me he was sorry, but he had to hurry off and see about something to do with his job. So we parted ways."

"And you don't remember any other time when he acted unusual like that?"

"No."

Carl spoke. "If that's the sort of thing we're talking about, I remember something too." The others turned to look at him. "It wasn't much, really, but a few days ago I was looking for Tom Cass. We, er . . . occasionally played cards together. When I asked Mr. Jeffers about him, he said that Tom was missing. I asked him how long it had been and he said a day or so. The police had been contacted, but Mr. Jeffers didn't hold out much hope."

"And exactly how long ago was this?" Jim queried.

"It must have been almost two weeks," Carl said.

Jim frowned. "Then that was before my partner came to talk to him," he said. "And he professed to not have any knowledge that Cass was even missing."

Claire stared. "Mr. West, what does it all mean?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "For his daughter's sake, I hope it means he's guiltless and that someone else is at fault." He took up his hat. "Thank you both for your time. I should be going now."

"I'll walk you to the door," Claire offered.

That was fine with Jim; it gave him the perfect opportunity to quietly ask her one last thing. As they arrived at the doorway, he did.

"Ms. Armory, was what you said the only reason you were nervous when you came in?" He kept his voice low.

She stiffened a bit. "What do you mean?"

"I had the feeling that maybe you thought I was here about something else."

Claire shook her head. "No, Mr. West. I couldn't imagine why you were here." She started to open the door. "I hope you find Mr. Jeffers safe."

Taking the hint that the conversation was over, Jim nodded. "I hope so too. Good evening, Ms. Armory."

Claire watched him walk out and down the steps. Sighing, she shut the door behind him.

"You thought he was here about me, didn't you?"

She started and turned, facing her brother in surprise. Carl, most definitely not surprised, had paused on his way to the kitchen. Guiltily she averted her eyes.

"I didn't know, Carl. I didn't think you'd ever been in enough trouble to bring the Secret Service down on our heads, but for a horrible, brief moment, when I realized who he was I wondered."

"And before you knew who he was, you thought he might have been part of a new scheme I concocted."

". . . Yes," Claire admitted in resignation.

Carl walked over to her. "That's all over now, Claire," he said. "I've finally, at long last, changed. And it was largely because of you and James Jeffers that I have."

Claire managed a smile. "I know. And I'm sorry for doubting you, Carl." Then she was downcast again. "Oh, I wonder what's happened to poor Mr. Jeffers."

"I wish I knew," Carl said sadly.


	5. Fight

**Chapter Five**

They approached Karen's house from the side. With the property situated on the corner, it was easy for the stage to come up near the side door without being seen. And with twilight spreading over the city, it would not be immediately obvious that a dead man was about to be forced out of the stage.

"Now, Mr. Jeffers, I hope you are perfectly aware of your instructions."

Jeffers glowered at Dr. Loveless in the waning light. "I'm to go up to the house and somehow manage to get Betsy's attention but not Karen's. Then I'm to assure her I'm alright and ask about the envelope without getting her suspicious."

"And do you have any idea how you're going to do that?"

"Well . . ." Jeffers ran through his tentative plan once more in his mind. "I suppose I could tie it in with us having to leave, tell her I need to tie up a loose end before we go. But look here, Loveless. There's no way I can keep her from being suspicious. She won't understand why we _have_ to leave, and why we can't even tell Karen, unless something is very wrong. Maybe she won't know about you, but she'll know someone put me up to this."

"Maybe she will," Loveless retorted, "but she's an obedient daughter, isn't she?"

"She's a good girl," Jeffers grunted.

"Then she will cooperate and go along with your wishes when you lay out the terms of your departure." Loveless grinned. "I would guess that she'll be so overjoyed to see you alive that she'll agree to most anything." He nodded to his flunky.

The gun poked Jeffers in the side again. "Okay, out," the thug ordered.

Jeffers fumbled with the door, getting it open and then stepping out onto the ground. "I'm guessing there's a time limit on this," he remarked.

"Why, Mr. Jeffers, I wouldn't dream of hurrying through your touching reunion," Loveless sneered. "Take all the time you need; I'm a patient man. But just remember this." He wagged a finger. "The sooner you get in and out, the better chance you'll have of safely getting away."

Jeffers glared. "I'll remember." He shut the stage door and walked onto the property, keeping to the shadows.

The man with the gun looked to Loveless with a frown. "Boss, are you sure we should just let him go?" he asked. "The word around town is those Secret Service agents have been poking into things all day, trying to find out about Jeffers. They've been asking if anyone saw him staggering across town."

"Let them ask," Loveless said in annoyance. "I knew they wouldn't give up easily if they had the slightest hint of doubt."

"But they shouldn't have had any doubts," the lackey insisted. "What went wrong?"

"_Everything _went wrong after our foolhardy associate decided to go his own way." Loveless trembled in anger and indignation. "He interfered where he shouldn't have. He nearly overturned all of my plans to take over the Syndicate. The only thing that's really gone right is that now I can assume command without having to dispose of Hassan or his confederates. But in return, we now have a young girl refusing to believe her father was a wicked man and two love-struck Secret Service agents anxious to appease her."

He watched as Jeffers reached the house and began peering through any lit window. "I intend to turn this entire disaster to my advantage. And if West and Gordon interfere, as they surely will, this will be their swan song."

"They're gonna sing, Boss?"

Loveless's face scrunched in his disapproval. "No more questions, Kilgore. But in answer to your first query, once Mr. Jeffers is in the house we will approach the property and see exactly what happens inside. After all, we have to make sure he keeps to his end of our bargain."

xxxx

Betsy was pacing the living room, repeatedly wringing her hands. Dinner would be ready soon, but she could scarcely think of eating. Mr. West and Mr. Gordon had not returned yet, and she was hoping so desperately that they would bring good news.

Her father was a good man. And he _had_ to be alive and safe.

But where was he? How would they ever find him?

The knock on the door sent her running. Again she displaced the maid, hauling the door open herself. "Mr. Gordon!" she cried in greeting. "What is it? What did you find out?"

"Well . . ." Arte stepped inside, sweeping off his hat. "I'm not altogether sure. Betsy, I did learn that someone who looked like your father was stumbling around the docks this morning."

Betsy shut the door after him. "Then he is alive!" she declared. "Or at least he was several hours ago."

_Unless that was the double and the real Mr. Jeffers was killed last night,_ Arte thought to himself. Aloud he said, "I traced him to an alley. No one was there, but I found this." He took out the gold band. "Do you know if this belongs to your father?"

Betsy took it, turning it over and over in her hands. "It could be," she said slowly. "He kept his wedding band with him. Oh, but if he lost it, he must have been badly hurt!"

"_Somebody_ was, in any case," Arte said. He pulled out the torn piece of cloth. "Betsy, do you recognize this?"

Betsy stared at it. ". . . No," she said at last. "It's much too coarse a material. Daddy didn't own anything like that." She clenched the ring in her fist. "Oh, but Mr. Gordon! He must have gotten into a fight with whoever was wearing it!"

"Perhaps," Arte said. "Right now there's really no way of knowing, I'm afraid."

"He's hurt," Betsy moaned. "I _know_ he must be hurt!" She grabbed Arte's arm. "Mr. Gordon, take me to where you found these. Maybe Daddy is somewhere nearby!"

"Betsy . . ." Arte winced, feeling terribly awkward and uncomfortable. "I really couldn't; it might be dangerous."

"I'm not afraid," Betsy retorted. "And you'll be there if anything goes wrong."

"But what will we tell your aunt Karen?" Arte protested.

"We won't tell her anything," Betsy said. "We'll go now, and maybe with any luck, we'll come back with Daddy."

"Oh, but Betsy, I really couldn't. . . ."

Outside the window, observing in the dark, Jeffers took in the scene. He swallowed hard. Betsy still believed in him. He never should have worried to the contrary.

And Mr. Gordon was there. Maybe, if he could just get inside while Loveless and his men waited, he could tell the whole problem to Artemus. Betsy would not be happy living on the run. And neither would he, really. They would never have any peace; he would always fear something going wrong. But if the Secret Service could be alerted, and Loveless caught, they might not have to leave.

He crossed to the window at the next room, which was dark. Slowly, quietly, he pushed it up and began to climb in over the sill. He knew Karen's house by heart. Unless she had suddenly rearranged the furniture, he would not plow into something in here. And this way he could swing around and catch Betsy and Mr. Gordon before they left, without having entered the house via the same room they were in. The last thing he needed was for Loveless to hear both Betsy and Artemus exclaiming in shock through the living room's open window.

After he was safely in the darkened room, he lowered the window and walked silently but briskly to the door. He opened it just enough to slip through, ending up in the back part of the living room. Betsy was still trying to convince Mr. Gordon that they should go, grabbing her hat and purse in the process.

He glanced to the window. Loveless would not be able to see anything from the stage, but he did not want to risk passing in front of it anyway. The curtains were still open, even though the lamps were lit. Instead he stayed close to the wall as he moved forward. "Betsy!" he hissed. "Mr. Gordon!"

Both spun around at the same time. Betsy's eyes widened to twice their size. "Daddy!" she cried, overjoyed. "Oh Daddy!" And she was running to him, throwing herself into his arms in excitement and gratitude.

Arte just stood and gaped. "Holy mackerel," he exclaimed. "Mr. Jeffers? What are you doing _here?_"

Jeffers held his daughter close, relieved and overwhelmed. Betsy was here. She was safe. And they were still a family.

Before he could manage to say anything, she was speaking again, her words coming fast in her rush to get them out. "It really is you, isn't it, Daddy? And you're alive and safe and you never were mixed up in that horrible criminal racket at all." She pulled back, looking up at him. "Oh, and you're hurt! You were hurt last night when those wild men took me! Daddy, you should sit down." She tried to pull him to a chair.

He resisted. "Betsy, wait." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I need to talk with both you and Mr. Gordon, but we haven't got much time. A man named Loveless is outside in a stage, waiting for me to bring him an envelope. He'll do who knows what to us if I don't."

Betsy was baffled. "Loveless? An envelope? Daddy, what's going on? Where have you been?"

Arte's reaction was much different. "Dr. Loveless?" he burst out in alarm. "_He's_ mixed up in this?"

Jeffers looked to him. "Yes. He's behind this entire nonsense about the boll weevils. He said that Betsy was given an envelope by this _double_ of mine and that he needs it back. He's been holding me prisoner all day. He said he'll only let Betsy and I get out of here if I bring it to him. And we have to leave San Francisco without anyone knowing I'm back."

"Well, you've already broken that stipulation," Arte said.

"I know, because I don't want to go along with him," Jeffers exclaimed. "But I can't allow him to hurt Betsy. Mr. Gordon, what can we do?"

Arte pondered on this new and deadly problem. "Betsy, do you remember this envelope?" he asked at last.

Betsy nodded. "Yes, I do. But Daddy . . ." She stared at her father. "You mean it really wasn't you who gave it to me?"

"No, it wasn't," Jeffers said.

Betsy rocked back, looking a bit sick. "Then . . . then that means I _was_ fooled by that other man," she choked out. "I thought I'd always be able to tell. But I wasn't any wiser than anyone else. In fact, I was stupider. I should know my own father!"

"Oh Betsy. . . ." Jeffers rested a hand on each of her shoulders. "Honey, it doesn't matter. You probably only saw him for a few minutes, anyway. Any longer and you likely would have realized."

Betsy frowned. "Maybe so, but . . ." She shook her head. "Oh, I feel terrible about this!"

Arte broke in, nervous and impatient but still trying to be polite. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but as Mr. Jeffers pointed out, we don't have much time," he said with an awkward smile. "Betsy, if you remember what you did with that envelope . . ."

"I do!" Betsy nodded. "I put it in the safest place I could think of—in the hem of the drapery in my room at home."

"That's great, Betsy," Arte praised. "That's great. Now if we can just figure out how to go there and get it without it falling into Dr. Loveless's hands!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Gordon."

Everyone froze and whirled to look. Dr. Loveless was now standing in the open front door, flanked by his two lackeys.

Arte cringed. "Oh. Dr. Loveless."

Loveless turned, facing Jeffers. "You disappoint me, Mr. Jeffers. I thought I could rely on you because of your love for your daughter. In reality, you don't love her as much as you love your reputation as an honest, upright man!"

"That's not true!" Jeffers retorted. "But I don't have to defend myself to you."

Betsy grabbed his arm. "He didn't know Mr. Gordon was here," she snapped. "He was coming to talk to me about the envelope, just like you wanted!"

"Touching," Loveless chuckled. "It's a valiant try, Miss Jeffers, but it won't do."

"What's going on here?"

Once again everyone looked up. Karen Jeffers was on the stairs, gripping the banister as she descended. Her eyes were filled with disbelieving shock. When she saw her brother, the color drained from her face and she wobbled. "James?" she choked out.

Jeffers looked to her, the fear visible in his eyes. "Karen, stay back!" he cried. "It's not safe here right now."

"What are you talking about?" Karen retorted. "You come back from the dead and just expect me to stay up here gaping? Well, let me tell you . . ." She trailed off and gasped as one of Loveless's thugs appeared at the bottom of the stairs, leering at her.

Loveless himself soon made his way to the scene. "Now, now, Thatch. We've discussed your inappropriate habits already. You're only to capture the woman, not to have your kind of fun with her."

"She's too old for me anyhow," Thatch retorted. "Jeffers' daughter is more my type."

"Why, you . . ." Jeffers stepped in front of Betsy, more than ready to attack Thatch if he made a move in either direction.

"Enough of this!" Loveless cried. At the sound of his voice, several more men emerged from all parts of the house, converging on the living room.

Arte glanced back and forth as the newcomers entered. "You know, we could really use Jim about now," he muttered.

Loveless heard. "Ah yes, Mr. West. Unfortunately, Mr. West isn't going to be able to make it to this gathering. We should be away from here by the time he comes from across town."

"Don't bet on it."

For the third time everyone jerked to attention at an arrival. Jim West was standing in the open doorway, his expression impassive, taking in the scene.

"Jim!" Arte exclaimed in delight. "Why, you've made it after all."

"You know me, Arte. I never like to be late to a party." Jim struck out and punched Kilgore, who was still at the door and seemed bewildered by it all. The lackey stumbled back, his gun waving in the air. Jim hit him again, sending him to the floor. Immediately Jim dove for the gun, wrestling it away. A bullet discharged, landing harmlessly in a table leg. Betsy shrieked.

Jim straightened, holding the gun as he pointed it at Kilgore's head. But he did not have the thug held at bay for long. Two more jumped him from behind. They crashed to the floor, struggling and kicking. But soon Jim was on his feet, flying at another man.

Arte was soon into the act, diving to the side to avoid one charging henchman and sending the would-be attacker crashing into the wall. He turned, decking another thug under the jaw.

Jeffers, although unused to such battles in general and certainly in fighting them while injured, was determined to protect both his daughter and his sister from Loveless's men. He harshly elbowed one and struck another with a nearby wooden figurine.

One lackey hit him hard on the right shoulder and he gasped, slamming into the wall.

Betsy immediately tried to run to him. "Daddy!" she cried. Karen grabbed her arm, holding her back.

Jeffers righted himself, twisting the thug's arm unbearably.

Loveless stayed out of the fray, furious as he watched the Secret Service men and even Jeffers managing to triumph. Within moments, almost every one of his men was down. "No, no, no!" he fumed. He reached into a large bag at his side. It was a good thing he had prepared a back-up plan just in case there was trouble.

Arte ducked, causing two henchmen charging at him to crash into each other. He straightened, pulling at his collar. "Jim?" he called across the room. "Is it just me or is it getting hard to breathe in here?"

Jim delivered a karate chop to the back of another lackey's neck. "It's not just you, Arte," he frowned. "It's . . ." His eyes began to water. He managed to shove a final attacker to the floor before collapsing himself.

"Oh no," Arte mumbled as he sank back against the wall and to the floor.

"Daddy?" Betsy coughed. "Aunt Karen? What is this?"

"Some kind of gas," Jeffers groaned.

It was not long before they slipped into oblivion as well. High above them, on the second-floor landing, Dr. Loveless stood with a gas mask and a wicked cackle.


	6. In the Compound

**Chapter Six**

It wasn't really much of a surprise when Jim began to awaken and found that he was strapped to a slab. When he was on assignment, it seemed as though he spent a great deal of his time strapped to slabs, beds, walls, and other, sometimes stranger, objects. Before ejecting his hidden knife to cut himself loose, he opted to examine his current surroundings.

Clearly he was in what must be Dr. Loveless's new laboratory. There were tables with vials and bubbling chemicals and unidentified objects in jars. A strange box at the end of the slab was covered with a cloth. And standing nearby was Dr. Loveless himself, grinning with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Ah, Mr. West, you're awake," he greeted. "It's been a while."

"Dr. Loveless," Jim mumbled in return. "I should have realized you were the real mastermind behind the boll weevil infestation. I considered it, but I thought it was too insane even for you."

"Oh come now, Mr. West. It's brilliant." Loveless spoke with wicked pride. "Especially my hybrid boll weevils. Then, eventually, I will have not only the world's cotton, but the world's food supplies, entirely at my command."

"Forgive me, but I thought the hybrid boll weevils were the Syndicate's creation," Jim said.

Now Loveless's eyes flamed. "They stole the idea from me!" he ranted. "And they forcefully removed me from their ranks. I barely escaped with my life! That was when I devised the scheme of setting up contact with them through Mr. Jeffers' double, whom I was fortunate enough to find wandering around in Nevada."

"And so you intended to eventually seize control of not only your hybrids, but the Syndicate as well," Jim said.

"Then they would have regretted casting me off," Loveless fumed. "But that stupid man had to decide to break ties with me and go his own way. He even killed Tom Cass when he thought his operation was going to be discovered."

"And then he was killed by Tucker," Jim rejoined. "Did Tucker know there was a double?"

"He wasn't sure," Loveless said. "We arranged it so that our Mr. Jeffers never did business with him or the Syndicate from his office."

"Naturally," Jim said. "You couldn't have the real Mr. Jeffers finding out, if you didn't want to get rid of him yet. And he would have found out, if strange people were seen going in and out of his office when he wasn't even there."

"Exactly. So the double contacted them only in certain locations. It was probably when Tom Cass went to the office and found our Mr. Jeffers scrounging around that the fool decided it was too dangerous to keep Mr. Cass alive. He didn't want word getting back to the genuine article."

"That's quite a cozy situation you had, until he spoiled it," Jim said.

"Ah, but all is not lost, Mr. West. Once I have the formula in the envelope he took from me, I will be able to enact the next phase of my plan!"

Jim kept his expression impassive. "And what's that, exactly?"

"I always kept some of the boll weevils for myself," Loveless said. "The Syndicate never got them all. And I have mine right here in this compound. They just need the formula to grow big and strong. Then it will be time to release them on America's crops!"

"So you really just have one problem," Jim said. "What if Betsy won't tell you where it is?"

Loveless just smiled. "Oh, I think she will, Mr. West. To save her father, I'm sure she would be willing to sacrifice a field of cotton."

"Not to mention corn, wheat, and barley," Jim deadpanned.

"And there's really no telling what else these hybrids might develop a taste for," Loveless said.

"Let's just hope it's not people."

Loveless shook his head. "Mr. West, you have a sick mind." He crossed the room to the covered box and pulled off the cloth. "Behold, the little insects that will help me conquer the world!"

Jim stared, horrified and transfixed all at once. Inside the glass case, the boll weevils were crawling in every direction—on the floor, up the walls, across the ceiling, and over each other. It was a fairly large container, but it was still too small for their numbers.

"Fascinating, aren't they, Mr. West?" Loveless grinned.

"They have a certain hypnotic effect," Jim said. "Just when are you planning to set them loose?"

"As soon as I have the formula," Loveless said as he replaced the covering. "It doesn't take long to work. So I would say that before the night is over, America's crops will be in danger." He headed for the door and entered the hall. "You won't be able to stop me this time, Mr. West!"

Left behind, Jim struggled against the straps. Loveless knew very well about at least some of Jim's stash of secret weapons by now; he had seen to it that Jim could not easily bring out any of them. For the moment, he was stranded.

_Oh well,_ he thought dryly to himself, glancing at the covered box, _at least I'm not alone in here._

xxxx

There were few things as disconcerting as waking up in a cage. Particularly if you were someone who had never been in dangerous situations before. And waking up in a cage, tied to someone else behind your back, was an especially strange and surreal experience.

"What the . . ." James Jeffers' eyes flew open as he began to adjust to the scenario. Underneath him, the large cage was slowly rocking back and forth. The floor of what looked like another laboratory seemed far below.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Jeffers."

Jeffers tried to look over his shoulder. "Mr. Gordon?"

Arte gave a weary nod. "Dr. Loveless seemed to think it would be fun to tie us up together. Heaven knows where Jim is."

"And what about Betsy and Karen?" Jeffers exclaimed in horror.

"Oh, Loveless usually treats women quite well," said Arte. "You probably don't have to worry too much about them just yet. I imagine that they're each reclining on a nice, soft bed about now, sleeping off the last effects of that gas."

"What about when they wake up?" The apprehension in Jeffers' voice was clear. And certainly not unfounded.

"Well . . ." Arte hesitated. "He still wants that envelope, you know. By now he's probably given up on you and will go to Betsy directly."

That was what Jeffers had been afraid of. He struggled against the bonds. "We have to get out of this!" he cried. "Don't you and Mr. West carry around an arsenal of newfangled tools?"

"Yes, we do," Arte said slowly. "The problem is, it's a little difficult to reach any of them right now."

"Where are they?" Jeffers flexed his fingers. "I could try to reach something."

Arte pondered for only a moment. Their hands were somewhat free below the tightly wound rope, but could only reach backwards. Arte had no access to his own pockets. But Jeffers might.

"That might actually work," he declared. "Anyway, we have to try something. Alright, there's a small metal cigar case in my left pants pocket . . . unless Dr. Loveless removed it."

Jeffers strained, trying to maneuver his right hand into something that felt like a pocket. "What's in this case?" he asked. "I'm assuming it's not really cigars."

"It isn't," Arte replied. "It's . . . well, let's just say it's a special invention of mine. A couple of them, actually. One of them is a rather sticky substance that doubles as an explosive. We can use that for the door. But to get ourselves free first . . ." He gave an uneasy chuckle. "That might be somewhat of a problem. Unless you're willing to try setting the rope on fire."

Jeffers stiffened in shock. "What? We'd both be burned!"

"It takes a lot of practice to do it without that happening," Arte admitted.

Jeffers was not pleased. "I've got the case," he announced after a moment. "But if the rope has to be set on fire, will you be able to take care of that, Mr. Gordon?"

"I think so," Arte replied. He felt around until his fingers touched the case. "I just have to manage to open the case."

"I should be able to help with that," Jeffers said.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Jeffers. I was about to ask."

It was a difficult task. Each could only put one hand on the box. And while one tried to hold it steady with a hand bent backwards, the other tried to open it with one likewise. The rocking cage did not make it easier. But somehow the men succeeded in opening it together and Arte reached for the device he wanted.

"This doesn't start just any fire," he informed Jeffers. "It's a slow-acting fire, so we'll have time to break the ropes and stomp it out before it becomes serious."

". . . That's good to know," Jeffers said, albeit clearly unconvinced.

"Oh, and watch your clothes. I lost a few shirts while I was testing this baby out."

"What about skin?" Jeffers returned, not really in jest.

"I might have lost a little bit of that, too," Arte admitted.

Jeffers shut his eyes in dismay.

Arte soon had the rope in flames. Jeffers came to attention and stared, rigid against the Secret Service agent, as the fire traveled along the course of the rope.

". . . It's as if the rope is a fuse," Jeffers noted.

"I know," Arte said with definite pride. "It will just stay on the rope, unless something else catches on it."

"It's not going to blow up if it makes it to the end of the rope, is it?" Jeffers dryly asked.

"Certainly not," Arte said. "But we won't let it get that far anyway.

"Alright!" he said suddenly. "Strain against the ropes with all your might. They should snap now."

Jeffers was more than willing to obey. As he and Arte both strained, the coil tore free.

"Yes! Oh yes!" Arte exclaimed, getting to his feet. Jeffers stood with him, stamping on the flickering flames as he rose. Arte assisted, before picking up his sticky substance and placing it over the lock on the cage.

"I'm going to set the fuse for this now," he said. "Stand back."

Jeffers needed no coaxing. He stood near the opposite side of the cage. "Won't Loveless hear this and come running?" he frowned.

"Perhaps," Arte tossed over his shoulder. Lighting the fuse, he stepped back to wait. "But he's probably expecting us to escape. And at the moment he might be more interested in Betsy. He wants that envelope."

"Well, he's not going to have it. _Or_ Betsy," Jeffers fumed.

The door blew open, sending the cage wildly reeling from side to side. Jeffers gasped, grabbing the bars to keep from falling. Having half-expected it, Arte calmly took hold of another. As the cage settled down, Arte let go and hurried to the doorway, Jeffers right on his heels. Arte jumped to the floor, quickly followed by the harbour commissioner.

"Where do you think these 'nice, soft beds' are, Mr. Gordon?" Jeffers asked.

Arte pondered, brushing the dust off of his hands while he walked. "If we're downstairs, then I might say we should check upstairs first," he said.

"Fine," Jeffers said with a curt nod. "Let's do it."

But as they approached the door, Jeffers' gruff demeanor faded and he gave Arte a half-smile. "You're handy to have around, Mr. Gordon. I'm glad I'm on your side."

Arte reached for the doorknob. "You and me both, Mr. Jeffers. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do was to tell Betsy about your supposed criminal activities. Especially your involvement in her kidnapping."

Jeffers flinched. "I hate to think how she must have looked."

Arte turned the knob and eased the door open enough to glance up and down the apparently empty corridor beyond it. "She was broken up, to say the very least. But I thought she was going to accept it." He looked back before he walked out of the room. "Was I ever wrong. And it's a good thing, too. Mr. Jeffers, I know I don't need to say how lucky you are to have a daughter who continues to believe in you, even when the situation looks hopeless."

"No, you don't need to say it," Jeffers said, clearly humbled. "Believe me, Mr. Gordon, I know." He followed Arte into the hallway. "I can't believe all of this was going on right under my nose and I didn't know it. No one other than Betsy could have believed in me, with the deck stacked against me that seriously." He regarded Arte with curiosity. "Was it Betsy who convinced you and Mr. West that I wasn't responsible for what happened in Tucker's warehouse?"

"I have to say, it wasn't, Mr. Jeffers," Arte confessed. "We thought more seriously about the possibility, but I don't think I was convinced until you suddenly appeared at your sister's house and explained it all to us.

"Jim was actually the first of us to start putting the pieces together."

"And how did he do that?" Jeffers kept his voice low as they walked, staying alert for Loveless or his lackeys. This had been too easy so far. From what he had seen of Loveless, he doubted such a calculating madman would just let them walk away. And that made him concerned for what else might be in store.

"Well, if you can believe it, Sir, it was because of the injury you sustained when Betsy was kidnapped." Arte tapped the left side of his head.

Jeffers rocked back. "Excuse me?"

"You see, your villainous twin made one small mistake," Arte said. "He wasn't injured, of course, and when he took your place he put the bandage on the wrong side of his head. Maybe he was looking in a mirror and forgot everything was reversed. But anyway, Jim was there when you were hurt, and he started remembering about the mixed-up bandages."

"And that was all it took?" Jeffers said in amazement.

"To start the investigation, yes," said Arte. "Then we went to your sister's house and found that Betsy still insisted on believing in you."

"Incredible," Jeffers breathed.

"Jim isn't the Secret Service's most trusted agent without good reason," Arte said. "Of course, had I been there when you were hurt, I'm sure I would've realized the truth as well."

"Of course," Jeffers agreed. "I'm sure you would have."

They continued down the hall, only growing tenser with the lack of guards or traps. What was Loveless up to?

xxxx

Betsy groaned as consciousness began to seep into her senses. "Daddy?" she mumbled. There was no answer. But . . . he had been there, hadn't he? And he had told her that he had never been involved in the boll weevil plot?

It hadn't all been a wonderful dream. It couldn't have been!

Slowly she opened her eyes. In the next moment she gasped. She was not in her room at home or at Aunt Karen's! It was a beautiful bedroom, well-furnished and filled with every type of material things she could want, but it was a room she had never seen before.

"Where am I?" she gasped.

A strange woman crossed the room, placing a silver tea tray next to the bed. "You're at Dr. Loveless's compound," she announced. "He sent me in to see if you were awake yet. I'm Antoinette."

"Dr. Loveless?" Betsy sat up straight. "Then it wasn't just a dream! Daddy is alive! And he _is_ innocent!"

"Of course he is." Antoinette poured a cup of tea. "Here. This should help steady your nerves. The gas sometimes has a lingering trembling effect."

Betsy took it. Her hands were indeed shaking, but she attributed it more to her excitement rather than the gas. "Where is he now?" she demanded. "He's alright, isn't he?"

"He hasn't been hurt," Antoinette said. "But Dr. Loveless wants to see you before you go to your father."

"Why?" Betsy frowned, sipping the tea. "What does he want with me?" Her eyes flashed. "As if I'd be willing to give him anything after he spirited both me and my father away."

"He has a proposal for you," Antoinette said. "I'll let him tell you himself." She went back to the door and stepped into the hall. "She's awake, Miguelito," she announced.

"Thank you, my dear," came a familiar voice. Dr. Miguelito Loveless stepped into the room in the next moment.

Betsy set the teacup aside. "Dr. Loveless, I want to see my father!" she declared.

Loveless shut the door. "Yes, Miss Jeffers, I know you do. But I just so happened to be in the middle of a little transaction with him before he spoke to you and Mr. Gordon. He told you all about the envelope I want, didn't he?"

"He didn't want you to get it," Betsy shot back. "So I don't intend to hand it over, either."

Loveless's eyes flashed. "Your father just doesn't understand why I want it!" he cried. "No one understands! I'm trying to better this cold, cruel world."

"By allowing boll weevils to eat it up?" Betsy exclaimed.

Loveless gripped the cane he sometimes used. "Once the world's population turns to me to buy their food and cotton, I'll be able to make everything over for the better! There won't be any starvation. Everyone will have more than enough to eat. And to wear. The world will be far more prosperous than it is right now. And it will be a world without greed and violence and hatred!"

"All everyone has to do is accept you as the king over the world. Is that it?" Betsy snapped.

"A king isn't a bad thing, Miss Jeffers," Loveless said. "Not if he knows what's best for his subjects!"

Betsy crossed her arms. "Well, after what I've seen of your methods, I don't think you _do_ know what's best. You got Daddy into a horrible mess with that awful double! His reputation is in shreds!"

"That was regrettable. But it can be mended." Loveless came closer, his eyes aflame from the ideas floating through his mind. "Miss Jeffers, I'm offering you a chance to be part of this historic event."

"What do you mean?" Betsy retorted.

"Join my cause and help rebuild the world!"

Betsy's mouth fell open. "Join _you?_ Especially after what you did to Daddy? I don't think so. Anyway, it would break his heart. I could never do that to him."

"But just think of all the good you could do!"

Betsy glowered. "I don't believe in your cause, Dr. Loveless. The world isn't perfect, but I like it the way it is right now. I'm not going to betray it."

Loveless looked like he was struggling very hard not to lose his temper. "Very well," he spat at last. "I was hoping I could convince you to join forces with me and simply give me the envelope. But I suppose I will have to get it back another way—with an ultimatum.

"Tell me where that envelope is, Miss Jeffers, or your father will perish!"


	7. Labyrinth

**Notes: One thing I absolutely do not understand is why the "boll weevils" of the **_**Headless Woman**_** episode were depicted as big worms! They are described properly here, as beetles.**

**Chapter Seven**

The orange cat had long ago tired of the stage's roof. Ever since the people had been brought to the strange and unfamiliar building and taken inside, it had roamed the perimeter in search of a way, any way, to get inside too.

All of the windows and doors were shut tight. And that really left only one alternative.

It passed from one door to another until its sensitive hearing picked up the sounds of someone walking around on the other side. This was it.

It stopped, reaching up to claw at the door.

xxxx

It seemed an eternity before the laboratory door opened and Loveless re-entered the room.

Jim looked over from where he was still bound to the slab. "Did you have any luck with Betsy?" he queried.

Loveless seemed in high spirits, so Jim was not really surprised by his answer. "Yes, Mr. West, I did." He waved a piece of paper at him as he hastened to one of the tables. Setting it aside, he wasted no time in beginning to mix oddly colored chemicals.

"You were gone an awfully long time," Jim noted. "Didn't she break as easily as you were hoping?"

Loveless barely looked back, focusing his attention on his work at the bench. "I was very generous, Mr. West. I even offered to let her join forces with me."

"And she said No," Jim deduced.

Loveless gripped the vials. "_Yes,_ she said No," he snapped. "She's just like all the others. She doesn't appreciate the great work I'm doing."

"You could have told her you'd keep her father safe if she'd join your cause," Jim said. "Then she might have done it."

If he had seen his nemesis' expression, it was a storm cloud. "I'm not that cheap, Mr. West. I only want those who are sincere to be part of my undertaking."

"And yet you told me you were going to hold her father's life on the line if she wouldn't give you the envelope."

"And that's exactly what I did." Loveless poured the contents of one vial into a second. "There's a fine line to be drawn. She isn't part of my cause. I did not want or offer that suggestion. She merely returned property that was wrongfully stolen from me."

"Meanwhile, exactly what do you plan to do with Mr. Jeffers?" Jim asked. "And the rest of us?"

"I haven't quite decided yet," Loveless said. "You see, Mr. West, my plans keep changing. The only thing I know for certain is that you are going to die tonight. Somehow, someway, these hours will be your last!"

"That isn't much of a surprise," Jim grunted. "But I hope you'll at least consider setting the Jeffers family free. They haven't done anything to you. They got mixed up in your scheme completely by accident, and only because of that look-alike you found."

"And, I'm sorry to say, they can't get out of it just as easily."

Now Loveless poured the second vial into a steaming, flat-bottomed container. This he carried to the glass case at the end of the slab. After throwing aside the covering he tipped the bottle upside-down, spreading its pinkish-red concoction through the screen and over the boll weevils clambering over each other inside.

The creatures went wild. Jim stared as their lazy pace quickly became frenetic. Loveless set aside the empty container with a widening, insane grin.

"Mr. West, before I unleash these magnificent beetles on America's crops, I have to have some idea of the range of materials they're interested in."

He lifted one edge of the screen and dipped into the container with his hand. Two enormous, struggling weevils came out with it.

Jim recoiled. "Exactly how do you plan to get this idea?"

Loveless set the insects down on the table with the glass case. "By seeing what they eat in my laboratory, of course. And if they happen to find your clothes or even _you_ appetizing, well . . ." He shrugged. "You'll be doing your part to further my takeover of this wretched world."

Jim's gaze was fixated on the giant bugs as they moved closer, ever closer. "And you said _I_ have a sick mind."

"And very shrewd, too, Mr. West," Loveless said.

The first boll weevil tried a sampling of the strap holding Jim's right leg to the slab. Deciding it wasn't appealing, it moved up the slab.

The second boll weevil spotted a loose thread hanging from the cuff of Jim's left pant leg. It took one bite, then another.

"Oh dear," Loveless smirked. "I think he's found something he likes."

"Great," Jim mumbled.

How was he going to get out of this? Could he possibly turn the boll weevils' penchant for eating in his favor? If they had just found the straps edible, it would have been so easy.

But he didn't like things to come _too_ easy, did he.

He rubbed his right sleeve against the metal of the slab, as he had struggled to do off and on for the past while. He was seeking the button to release one of his concealed weapons, but it either simply would not catch or Loveless had disabled it.

And then, as Boll Weevil Number Two continued to dine on the ever-shortening thread, at last his hidden gun emerged. He grasped it, fighting against the bonds to point the barrel downward to the edge of the strap. If he could shoot it off, his right hand would be free. If not, he would probably end up shooting himself instead. The idea of that dilemma was probably why Loveless had not disabled or taken his gun.

His finger closed around the trigger and pulled. The silenced shot tore into the leather strap. He pulled, freeing his wrist. From there it was easy to shoot off the other straps and stand, shaking the beetle from his clothing.

Loveless had backed up so as not to be hit by the flying bullets. He glared at his enemy in displeasure, reaching to lift the bug. "You're feeling proud of yourself, aren't you, Mr. West?"

"Oh, I knew they wouldn't start eating me," Jim said.

"And just _how_ could you _possibly_ know that?" Loveless cried.

"You lifted them out of the tank, Doctor," Jim said. "And you're holding that one again now. You wouldn't do that with your bare hands unless you were sure they wouldn't start biting you."

Flustered, Loveless scooped up the first as well as deposited them both back in the tank. "You're right, of course. But don't think you've won, Mr. West!" His eyes flashed.

"I wouldn't think of it," Jim said. "If I know you, Dr. Loveless, this was only a teaser. You haven't gotten anywhere near the main course yet."

Loveless smirked again. "Naturally. Feel free to browse through my compound, Mr. West. In fact, I'll take you on a personal tour. Who knows, you might even see Mr. Gordon or the Jeffers family along the way."

Jim nodded. "I just might."

xxxx

The strange noises at the outside door were starting to wear on Kilgore's nerves. They had been stopping and starting every few minutes. Finally he stood from his position at the guard post, crossing the room to the tightly sealed door. He reached for the knob, gripping it in his hand.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The henchman jumped a mile at Antoinette's voice. She was just entering the room behind him, her hands on her hips.

"There's something out there," he protested. "I was just going to look and see what it was. It could be another Secret Service agent!"

Antoinette listened for a moment. "It's probably some animal scratching at the door, wanting food and shelter," she said. "And you know how Miguelito feels about that."

"Yeah." Kilgore nodded. "Bring it in and feed it."

He unlocked the door and eased it open a crack, his gun still in his hand. An orange blur of fur sped between his legs and into the room, meowing up at both Kilgore and Antoinette.

Antoinette reached to lift it into her arms. "Isn't he darling?" she smiled. "Miguelito will want to see him right away." Petting the soft head, she turned and began to walk away. "Lock the door again, Kilgore."

Kilgore gazed after her, somewhat dumbfounded. But then, shaking his head, he did as he was instructed.

"Who ever heard of a cat in a top-secret complex?" he mumbled to himself.

xxxx

Jeffers was growing increasingly uneasy as he and Arte made their way through the seemingly endless corridors that made up the bulk of this level of the compound. Each one looked like the one before it, and the ones before both of those, until the identical hallways became a dizzying blur that made little to no sense.

At last he slowed to a halt. "Mr. Gordon, are you sure we're not going in circles?" he exclaimed.

Arte stopped as well. "I didn't think so, but it sure gives you that feeling, doesn't it." His hands flew to his hips as he surveyed their surroundings. ". . . I guess we could mark one of the doors with an 'X' and see if we ever stumble across it again."

"I just want to stumble across Betsy and Karen," Jeffers said in frustration. "And Mr. West as well."

"Unfortunately, it's starting to look like that will take a small miracle," Arte said. He approached the wall with the intent of drawing on it with his pencil.

The voice that boomed over a hidden speaker made both him and Jeffers stop in their tracks.

"Really, Mr. Gordon, is that what this has come to? Defacing my private property?"

The voice seemed to come from all directions all at once. Arte and Jeffers stared at the walls and ceiling, looking for the concealed audiophone.

"Well, Dr. Loveless, my apologies, but would you be so kind as to tell us how to get out of your labyrinth?" Arte demanded.

"Certainly, Mr. Gordon. Go down that corridor and take the second door from the far corner on your right. That will lead you to the main hall and the staircase. Really, all you had to do was ask."

Jeffers clenched his teeth. That madman was making him more and more furious as the night wore on. "And will we find the others there?" he persisted.

"Oh, you may find _someone_ there whom you care about," Loveless said. "Unfortunately, I can't have you finding everyone all at once."

"Right now I'd settle for finding one at a time, as long as we find them all alive and well," Arte said.

"I'm with Dr. Loveless, Arte," came Jim's voice. "He's giving me the grand tour."

"Well, how nice," Arte said dryly, even as relief washed over him. At least for now, Jim was relatively safe.

"Keep looking for Betsy and Karen," Jim encouraged. "I haven't seen either of them yet."

"Will do."

Arte glanced to Jeffers. The commissioner was tense and angry. He could only be pushed so far before he snapped. And he was very near that point by now. Dr. Loveless's nonchalant tone was not helping in the least.

They walked briskly to the directed door and Jeffers hauled it open. "There _is_ a staircase out there," he said in amazement.

"A nicely carpeted one, too," Arte noted, eyeing the deep red hue. "But please, Mr. Jeffers, be careful." He grabbed his companion's arm. "The hallway could be booby-trapped."

"I thought of that," Jeffers retorted. "And it wouldn't surprise me in the least!"

He took out a coin and sent it flying into the open space. It sizzled and sparked, glancing off of the wall of a force field.

Arte winced. "Well, that's just great. There's no way of knowing how far that thing stretches in any direction, either. It might not be just a line to jump over."

Jeffers looked to him. "Maybe there's no way to turn it off unless you're in a control room," he exclaimed. "He led us here only for it to be another dead end."

"No," Arte mused. "There has to be a way to turn it off from here. If I know Dr. Loveless, he would find that even more ironically delicious—the thought of us electrocuting ourselves when the solution is so near."

He took a cautious step ahead, glancing up at the walls. Jeffers followed, reaching out to touch the smooth white plaster. "There must be a lever or a button somewhere," he said.

"It could even be on the other side," Arte said in disgust.

Jeffers jerked. "Then we'd have to get the attention of someone over there and have _them_ turn it off!"

"And it could only be someone we trust," Arte said. "Otherwise, we'd have no guarantee they would really turn it off."

Jeffers nodded. "And we _don't_ want to attract the attention of Loveless's men."

"I'm not sure it makes much difference, when Loveless himself is aware of exactly where we are," Arte frowned.

"James?"

Jeffers looked up with a start at the familiar voice. "Karen?"

His sister appeared at the top of the stairs. "James, be careful. There's a force field down there."

Jeffers sighed. "We know. We're trying to figure out how to get past it."

"Ms. Jeffers, can you find some kind of lever or switch that might turn it off?" Arte asked.

Karen blinked in surprise. "I don't know. I didn't even think to look. I was trying to find another way down."

"Knowing the good doctor, the switch is probably in the most obvious place," Arte grumbled.

Jeffers frowned, slowly stepping forward to the edge of the force field. "The most obvious place would be next to the field. But there's nothing on this side, unless we're just not seeing it."

Karen came down the stairs and stood, facing him, on the other side. Then she turned, walking to one end of the room. After feeling across the wall in vain, she came back the other way. "There's nothing here," she started to say.

Her foot stepped on a button on the floor. The force field sizzled and went out. She looked to her brother and Arte with wide eyes.

"Ms. Jeffers, you're wonderful!" Arte exclaimed.

Karen managed a smile. "Well, so now we're together. Where's Betsy?"

Jeffers tensed. "We don't know, and it's driving me out of my mind!" He threw his hands in the air. "Where the blazes does he have her?"

Karen took his arm, gently lowering it. "We'll find her, James."

Arte nodded. "Let's keep going. Loveless is watching our every move. He even knew when I was going to write on the wall."

"What?" Karen stared. "How is that possible?"

"Oh . . . a new invention of his, most likely," Arte said. "You know, it's a pity he doesn't turn over a new leaf. Some of these inventions of his would be beneficial to everyone."

xxxx

Betsy was pacing the floor of her room in agony.

Dr. Loveless had not returned, nor had any of his men. She still had no idea where her father was. And after Loveless had promised to bring him back safe!

She wrung her hands. He would be very unhappy with her. She had told Loveless exactly where to find the envelope. She had been so worried about him, but had she made the right decision? What if Loveless had bluffed and he wasn't safe at all? What if he was _dead?_

And she would have given over the last puzzle piece this madman needed. . . .

Her eyes narrowed. She had waited long enough for any communication. A while ago she had discovered a secret panel and tunnel at the back of her room. Now she was going to take it and find her father.

And, if possible, stop Dr. Loveless.


	8. Beautiful Dreamer

**Notes: Count Manzeppi had a screen in **_**The Night of the Eccentrics**_**, so I figured it wouldn't be too out of the way for Dr. Loveless to have one, too. And the episode Arte references at the end is **_**The Night of the Bogus Bandits.**_

**Chapter Eight**

Jim was still in the control room with Dr. Loveless, observing his latest creations and admiring them in spite of himself. Not only had the mad doctor invented an audiophone system, consisting of pipes snaking all over his compound in order to speak to people in every room, he had developed some sort of visual tracking device. Jim was not sure he understood how it worked, but as they were standing here, they were observing Arte, Jeffers, and Karen on a screen.

"Well?" Loveless said in delight. "What do you think, Mr. West?"

"Fascinating," Jim deadpanned. "I'm always impressed with what you come up with, Doctor."

"As well you should be," Loveless beamed. He sobered just as quickly. "But what you don't understand, Mr. West, what _no one _understands, is that this is why I should rule the world. Especially California. This land is mine!" He thumped the console.

"I'm sorry to disagree with you, Dr. Loveless, but this land belongs to the United States Government," Jim said. "Unless you've legally purchased some of it, you don't have a claim."

Loveless trembled. "_Legally_ purchased. Oh yes. I own this miniscule piece of land. And soon I will own far more than this. But I will be taking it by force! It belonged to my family years ago. I shouldn't have to pay for it now!"

"Unfortunately, you will," Jim rejoined. "But you might not find anyone very sympathetic to your cause after you've tried more than once to destroy the world."

"I want to _save_ the world, from people who are destroying it themselves!" Loveless exclaimed. "You'll see, Mr. West. Someday I shall succeed. And that someday is almost upon us."

"You said something about unleashing the boll weevils on a crop to test them," Jim said.

"Yes! I'm going to see how hungry they are for rice." Loveless grinned. "We're not far from the edge of the Sacramento Valley. People have been experimenting with growing rice there. It will be a perfect testing ground!"

"_If_ we don't stop you."

"Oh, you won't be able to stop me. I'll see to that." Loveless walked past Jim, heading for the door. "And once you've witnessed my triumph, I'll watch the final act of your life."

"Charming. Although I'm afraid I won't turn out as entertaining a performance as Hamlet."

"Trust me, Mr. West. Observing your death will be far more satisfying than Hamlet's!"

"If you say so."

The door opened. Both men looked up in surprise. Antoinette was standing there, holding an orange cat.

Jim stared. "What's this? It doesn't have anything to do with how you're planning to kill me, I hope."

"Of course not, Mr. West." Loveless headed towards his favored assistant. "Antoinette has just brought us a visitor. Haven't you, Antoinette?"

Antoinette held out the animal. "He was scratching at the door downstairs," she said fondly. "I made Kilgore let him in so he could be fed. Isn't he beautiful, Miguelito?"

Loveless reached for the cat, taking it in his arms. "Beautiful indeed, Antoinette." He stroked the soft fur and the cat meowed.

Jim stood by, watching. "Isn't it strange, that it would turn up here, of all places?"

Loveless glanced to him. "Not at all, Mr. West. Animals know they can trust me. I'm always willing to give a needy animal food and shelter.

"People behave more like wild beasts than animals do, you know. They're the ones who aren't worthy to have this world."

"And you've made that decision all on your own."

"Why not? Someone has to clean up the mess they've made."

One of the assorted lackeys came to the doorway, about to speak. But when he noticed the cat in Loveless's arms, he jumped away in horror. "It's here!" he yelped. "It followed us!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. Loveless glowered. "What are you babbling about?"

The henchman pointed a shaky finger at the cat. "That . . . that thing!" he cried. "It was sitting by Jeffers when we found him in the alley. When we tried to pull him up, it attacked us! It chased us all the way out of the alley. And now it came here to get him back!"

Loveless was not impressed. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would an unknown cat defend that man? It would only have that kind of loyalty if it had known him for years."

"Don't be so sure, Doctor," Jim said, although he was not sure himself. "Cats get these ideas about what they want. And they don't like it when they can't have it."

Loveless frowned, peering at the cat. It looked back.

Hoping that maybe he had an opening, Jim continued. "Surely you'll let Jeffers and his family go now. If you really think so highly of animals, and this one thinks so highly of him, you wouldn't want to let it down, would you?"

"It's a poor, unenlightened creature," Loveless said. "If it really understood what humanity is like, it wouldn't want to be around any of them at all."

"It doesn't look like a cat that had the advantage of a good home," Jim said. "Look at the fur. It isn't brushed. And there's even some missing. It's been fighting recently. Maybe it's never lived anywhere except on the streets. And what animal would know better about the evils of humanity than a ragged alley cat?"

"Or worse—a cat that had a home and was then abandoned," Loveless snarled.

"We have no way of knowing that it didn't and wasn't," Jim said. "But there's one thing I can tell you right now. Even if it's been kicked so many times it should want to stay down, even to hate, it's different from you and a lot of other people. It hasn't given up and declared war on the human race. It proved that by trying to protect Mr. Jeffers, if it's really that same cat. In any case, it's also proving it by coming here and letting you and Antoinette hold it."

". . . That makes sense, Miguelito," Antoinette frowned. "What are you going to do?"

Loveless handed it back to her. "First of all, Antoinette, you will feed it, as planned. Then, perhaps, we will lead Mr. Jeffers to it and see if it really does carry some sort of misplaced loyalty to him."

He turned back to Jim. "I want all of my guests to view my triumph, Mr. West. And maybe, after you and Mr. Gordon are dead, I will allow the Jeffers family to go free. If they follow certain provisions, of course."

"Of course," Jim nodded. "And you'd better hope they will."

"They will, Mr. West," Loveless said. "I'm sure of it."

"You were wrong about Mr. Jeffers going along with your plan to get the envelope," Jim remarked.

"Only because Mr. Gordon happened to be there," Loveless said. "Without him, Mr. Jeffers would have had no security. He would have assisted me out of the fear for his daughter's life, just as young Betsy cooperated at last out of the fear for her father's life."

Again he headed for the door. "Let's finish the tour, Mr. West. When we're done, I believe you will be right where I need you to be for my plan to work. And the others will likely be present as well. You'll finally see Mr. Gordon again."

"I'm looking forward to that," Jim grunted.

It was about the only thing he was looking forward to.

xxxx

Betsy was bewildered and frustrated. She had been roaming the tunnel from her room for what seemed ages. And no matter how far she went, it remained as dark and confusing and foreboding as ever. All she had for light was the kerosene lamp she had taken from her room. The oil was low by now; it would not last much longer. And she was not looking forward to plunging into the dark.

It was possible that the exits just looked like parts of the wall. She was continually trying to press on one side of the wall and then the other, but always to no avail. Either the exits were very well hidden or they were not there at all.

Without warning the floor gave out underneath her. Shrieking, she descended to the next level. She landed on her feet, but nearly tumbled to the floor from the impact.

A hand shot out of nowhere, reaching to steady her. "Whoa there. It's not every day a beautiful girl falls through the floor." The voice was rough, matching the feel of the hand around her arm.

She jerked away. The smell of liquor was strong in the air. "Who are you?" she demanded as she whirled around.

A strange man leered at her. "You can call me Thatch. And I know who you are, Betsy Jeffers." He reached for her again, with both hands. "C'mere. I won't hurt you none."

Betsy did not believe him. She struck out, fighting him off with flailing arms. "No! _No!_" she screamed. "Stay away from me! Stay away!"

Thatch cackled, Betsy's resistance only exciting him further. He came at her again. Betsy shoved him back, turning to run. Thatch lunged.

Suddenly a harsh punch from the side sent Thatch crashing into the wall. "Keep your filthy hands away from my daughter!"

Betsy spun around. "Daddy!"

Jeffers stood over the dazed Thatch, breathing heavily, his eyes flashing with rage. As Arte and Karen ran up as well, they also clearly displayed their fury.

"And if he doesn't beat you to a complete pulp, I'll be more than happy to finish the job," Arte vowed.

Thatch stared up at both of them. "I didn't mean any harm," he retorted. "She's just such a pretty thing that I couldn't resist."

"I don't want any explanation from you," Jeffers snarled. "Just tell us where Mr. West is."

"He's with Dr. Loveless in the console room," Thatch grumbled. "I'll take you there."

Jeffers hauled him up. "You'd better," he said. "You don't want to lie to us."

Sullen but seemingly cooperative, Thatch did indeed lead them down the corridor and to a particular door. He pushed it open, gesturing inside. "Here," he muttered.

"Just to make sure there's no tricks, you're going in first," Jeffers said. Arte was in full agreement.

Thatch glared but complied. He headed into the large room, walking over near Loveless and Jim. Jim, seeing Arte and the others, hurried to them. The cat ran at his feet, immediately going to Jeffers.

"What's this?" Jeffers asked, confused.

"Apparently Mr. West was right," Loveless said in annoyed disgust. "This cat adores you, Mr. Jeffers."

Baffled, Jeffers bent down to pet it. "I've never seen this animal."

"No," Jim said, "but if Dr. Loveless's men are to be believed, it's seen you."

He looked to his friend. "Arte," he greeted. "It's been a while."

"You'd feel like that even more if you'd seen what Mr. Jeffers and I came through," Arte said with a shudder. "Dozens of identical hallways! It's enough to drive anyone mad!"

"That, Mr. Gordon, was exactly what I had intended!"

Everyone looked up with a start. Loveless sneered, pulling down a lever on the side of the console. Thatch sneered as well. The familiar humming of a force field now separated them from their prisoners.

"I should have guessed," Arte said, all the more aggravated now. "Now he's got us trapped again!"

Thatch pressed a button. A second force field went up in the doorway, preventing their escape from the now-enclosed area.

"Trapped, Mr. Gordon, but very available to witness my demonstration!" Loveless exclaimed. "After Antoinette and I celebrate my success."

Antoinette smiled, bringing her guitar. As their prisoners stared, they performed a harmonious duet of _Beautiful Dreamer._

Jeffers' jaw dropped. "He's going to destroy a rice field and he's singing a romantic ballad first?"

"You get used to it," Jim deadpanned.

As they brought the song to a close, Loveless drew a deep breath of pleasure. "Now, for that glorious moment." He pointed to a rising curtain behind him. Beyond it, the boll weevils were climbing around in a new glass case. And beyond _that_ was a strange and dark tunnel leading to who knew where.

"What's that, Dr. Loveless?" Jim frowned. "You didn't get around to mentioning it on our tour."

"No, I didn't, did I." Loveless regarded the group with glee. "This, Mr. West, is a wind tunnel. All I have to do is pull another lever and the wind will become a pulling force, carrying my beloved boll weevils out of the building and to greener pastures outside. Then we shall witness the total destruction of the rice field! And from there, countless other crops will be eaten! Mr. West, I have won."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't count on that, Doctor." He pressed a button on his belt buckle, releasing a small capsule into his hand.

Jeffers stared in disbelief. "What's that thing? It looks like a pill."

Arte smiled. "It's not. Everyone, I must request that you stand back. Don't bump into the other field, but stand as far away as you can without touching it."

Bewildered, the Jeffers family and the cat complied. Jim threw the object at the first field, shielding himself as it hit.

The explosion rocked the entire room, perhaps the entire building. The force field dissipated. The overhead lights flickered and flashed. The controls went mad. Dr. Loveless was thrown back, unable to pull the switch.

Jim charged ahead, just in time to meet Loveless's converging henchmen. Arte and Jeffers were close behind.

The brawl was a knockdown, drag-out fight. Men flew over the consoles and slammed into walls. Fists flew into faces and stomachs. Not wanting to be left out, Betsy and Karen attacked Loveless's men with whatever they could find handy—including chairs, loose console buttons, and falling curtains.

The cat yowled, dropping down onto one of the two men who had first hauled Jeffers out of the alley. The man cried out in horror and alarm, clawing at the little beast that was stubbornly attached to his head. "Get it off me! Get it _off_ me!"

Jim allowed a smirk of amusement. He socked the man's partner in the eye, sending him to the floor. Arte sent another lackey soaring over a chair, taking it down with him.

In all the commotion, Loveless slipped away, grabbing the lever in his determined hands. "I'm still going to win, Mr. West!" he declared as he began to pull it down.

Betsy was the only one near enough to see and hear what was going on. The roar of the wind was already coming into the tunnel. The boll weevils were beginning to be pulled towards it.

"No!" Betsy cried. Dr. Loveless had already left with Antoinette, more than likely plotting their escape. Betsy snatched the lever, pulling it back up. The wind stopped.

Thatch looked over, his eyes narrowed and his face twisted in hate. Betsy had refused his advances and was now putting a stop to Loveless's plans. Not that Thatch really cared about those plans. Right now, all he wanted was revenge. He drew his gun, taking aim at the young woman from behind another console, where she could not even see him.

"Betsy!"

It was Jeffers who darted into the way before either Thatch or Betsy could process it. The bullet struck him in the side, sending him to the floor. Betsy screamed.

The two sounds abruptly stopped all fighting. Everyone on both sides looked over, stunned and confused.

Thatch lowered the gun, surprised as well. But then he smirked. "Well. I probably did the worst thing I could to her," he said.

And then Jim was next to him, punching him in the face. "You're right," he said coldly. As Thatch fell, Jim stepped on his gun and drew it away.

Arte stared as Betsy sank to her knees, sobbing as she reached for her father's limp body. "He's dead," he murmured.

"Shot the same as Tucker shot his double," Jim remarked, coming back to where Arte was.

They stood in solemnity, their hearts heavy.

Karen, across the room, went pale. "James?!" she cried, trying to make her way over the fallen and stunned gunmen on the floor. The cat abandoned its target, scampering over with wide eyes.

"It's strange," Arte said quietly as Betsy collapsed in tears against the still man, unable to bear turning him over to see the damage. "Jeffers' double was willing to risk Betsy's life for his scheme."

"While the real Jeffers was willing to die for her," Jim added. They looked at each other, finally moving forward. Someone should guide Betsy away.

But Betsy had other ideas. She sat up straight, brushing her hair away from her eyes as she gripped Jeffers' shoulder. With care she turned him onto his back.

Her eyes widened. "There's no blood." She untied the red smoking jacket he had still been wearing from the past night. Stunned, she took out his cigar box.

Arte stared at it. "The bullet stopped in this." He took it from her, poking his finger through the hole in the lid. Sure enough, the bullet had buried itself in one of the cigars at the bottom of the box.

Jeffers jerked, his eyes weakly opening. "Betsy?" he mumbled.

Betsy exclaimed in joy, gently bending down to embrace him. "Daddy!" she cried. "Oh Daddy, you're alive! _You're alive!_"

"James!" Karen echoed, reaching them and crashing to her knees. The cat was right at her heels, meowing.

Arte straightened, passing the cigar box to Jim. ". . . You know, something similar happened to me on one of our previous Dr. Loveless cases," he said, wincing at the memory. "The bullet lodged in a sketchbook. It left an awful bruise. When I woke up, I could hardly believe I wasn't dead at first.

"It's odd, that the same thing would happen again now, to Mr. Jeffers."

Jim watched as Jeffers pulled his daughter and his sister into an embrace and looked to the cat in amazed bewilderment. "Some things aren't meant to be explained, Arte," Jim said, with a quiet smile of satisfaction and joy. "Just accepted and given thanks for."


	9. Epilogue

**Notes: And thus, I've finally finished a **_**Wild Wild West**_** fic! Yes! Thank you to everyone who has shown interest! I see you're reading, even though most of you choose to stay silent, and I appreciate each and every one of you. I have more plans for stories in this fandom, including finishing my **_**Man-Eating House**_** continuation and two other ideas. One features the characters of this story again; the other, characters from **_**The Big Blast **_**and **_**The Poisonous Posey.**_** I'm looking forward to sharing them with you. Thank you again!**

**Epilogue**

The train sat peacefully on the tracks at a San Francisco train yard. Inside, Jim and Arte entertained their guests.

In addition to the Jeffers family, Carl and Claire Armory had been invited. The group had been visiting with each other and the Secret Service agents, completely at ease.

"Well, Tucker finally broke down in the face of Loveless's men being arrested and confessed to everything he knows," Arte said grandly. "Which isn't much, granted, but every voice helps."

"He really didn't know whether or not there was a double," Jim said, "just as Loveless stated. But he _had_ started to suspect. He didn't want to say anything because he didn't want repercussions from either the Syndicate or Loveless."

Carl shook his head. "I can hardly believe all of this was going on right under our noses and we had no idea."

"No one did, until I remembered the double's mistake," Jim said.

"And what a lucky thing you did, Jim," said Arte. "Otherwise, half of California's crops might be inside boll weevils by now!"

Claire cringed. "What an unappetizing thought."

"And who knows what would have happened to James and Betsy," Karen added. "I can't believe that madman would have let them go."

"With Dr. Loveless, it's hard to say," Jim admitted. "He has a certain twisted sense of honor, but that doesn't stop him from trying to kill you if you interfere with his plans too often."

"Loveless still hasn't been found, has he?" Jeffers said in concern.

"Unfortunately not," Arte sighed. "He and Antoinette both escaped to parts unknown."

"Agents are looking for them, but from past experience we know that we won't see them again until Loveless has time to concoct a new scheme," Jim said.

"I hope _we_ won't see him ever again," Betsy fumed. "He's caused this family more than enough trouble."

Jim nodded. "The Secret Service is still going through that complex, but there's not much left to see. Dr. Loveless apparently set everything to self-destruct by remote."

"He didn't want the government to get hold of his inventions, I suppose," Arte added.

"What a mess," Jeffers frowned. "But thanks to the both of you, the Department of Harbours finally believes that I didn't have anything to do with the boll weevils."

"Daddy has his job back," Betsy said proudly. Giving him a smile of gentle, teasing amusement she added, "So he can get back to bossing people around."

Jeffers pretended to look exasperated. "Now Betsy, you know what I've said about that."

"Oh yes, I know," Betsy said with a sage nod. "But I still say you could relax sometimes, Daddy."

"I've been telling him that for years," Karen said, shaking her head. "He hasn't yet."

"Well, a lot has to be said for bosses," Arte drawled. "Who knows how many things would never get done if someone wasn't there to order the underlings around and always be on guard to make sure they do it properly."

"Speaking of which, we'll probably be receiving a message from Colonel Richmond any time now," Jim said.

"And then you'll be off somewhere else, on another mission," Betsy sighed. "But you'll come back and visit, won't you?"

"Why, of course," Arte smiled. "And who knows, maybe our next assignment will be right here. A very large percentage of our cases have to do with San Francisco." He paused. "I wonder why."

"Big cities attract crime, Arte," Jim said.

"And the nuts," Arte added. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Jeffers, what are you going to do with that cat?"

At the moment, the feline was perched on the arm of the couch. It looked to Arte, meowing lazily.

Jeffers reached and patted its head. "Well, if he's so determined to stay with me, I decided I'd let him. But I draw the line at bringing him to work." He gave the cat a pointed look.

Betsy smiled. "That doesn't stop him from insisting on sprawling on Daddy's lap when he's at home," she said. "Especially if Daddy's trying to work in his home office."

Jeffers looked exasperated. "I'm trying to train him out of that."

"Oh, don't count on it working, Mr. Jeffers," Arte said seriously. "Cats generally get their own way."

"Yes, that's what I've been discovering," Jeffers grunted.

Jim was amused.

It had been a strange case overall—realizing that the solution to the original mystery was not as simple as it had seemed, looking for Jeffers, finding that Dr. Loveless was involved. . . .

But then again, all of their cases were odd in some way. And not all of them turned out as well as this one had. He and Arte had seen their fair share of tragedies, ironies, and downright unfair happenings. This case could have gone sour more than once.

Jim was gratified that James Jeffers was indeed a man of honesty and integrity, as he and Arte had both thought at first. He had been placed in a situation that few people ever had to deal with in their lifetimes, that of being used as a pawn by a wicked double. He had done well under pressure, really. So had Betsy and Karen. But Jim hoped, as he knew they all did, that this was the last time the Jeffers family would ever have to become mixed up in all manner of dangerously agonizing problems. They deserved peace.

Arte finished filling the glasses on the table. "May I propose a toast," he said. "To San Francisco. May it always bring friends together."

Everyone raised their glasses. "To San Francisco," they echoed.

"And to families and friendships," Betsy added with a smile.

Sitting on the couch arm, the cat meowed in agreement.


End file.
